<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>In the Shadow of  You by Chinesepapercut</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576363">In the Shadow of  You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chinesepapercut/pseuds/Chinesepapercut'>Chinesepapercut</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The West Wing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Humor, Little bit of angst, Season/Series 02, Secret Relationship, but a happy ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:14:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>51,128</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chinesepapercut/pseuds/Chinesepapercut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Why is it always poor Donna who has to get knocked up?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Josh Lyman/Donna Moss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>165</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. One of Those Days</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a slightly better edited copy of a work I had posted elsewhere. So, if you follow any of my work elsewhere, you'll recognize this. I'm just taking an opportunity to finally do a better job with grammar and clarity and re-posting it here for a wider audience. </p>
<p>This story starts right around the War At Home or Ellie, but it doesn't very closely follow each episode.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was going to be one of those days. I knew it the moment I woke up. Or at least I strongly suspected it when I woke up to the sound of Donna retching into the toilet for the 4th morning in a row. I know what you're thinking and yes, now I'm thinking it too.</p>
<p>I pause a moment to look at her from the doorway. Even hunched over the toilet she looks beautiful to me. She relaxes back from the toilet for a minute and I take that opportunity to hold out the sleeve of saltine crackers I had retrieved from the kitchen before joining her in the bathroom. She takes one with a small smile and starts gingerly to take a few bites.</p>
<p>Of course, I have a reputation to uphold so I sit next to her on the bathroom floor even though I'm not good with vomit. Don't get me wrong, I have vomited plenty and for all the normal reasons—tequila, vodka, beer, even champagne once. I have also vomited for some more unusual reasons—anxiety (mostly as a child because the death of a sibling will do that to you), pain, weaning myself off prescription painkillers for the aforementioned pain. Who knew one little bullet could hurt so goddamn much? Which brings me back to why I am not very good with vomit. It's the sound, and especially the smell, it reminds me of bad memories. But when I look at Donna now, hunched over the toilet on my bathroom floor, I suddenly don't seem to be bothered about the fact that there is vomit going on. She looks so pathetic, so sick and mostly, so scared. Plus, it's also possible this is at least partly my fault.</p>
<p>"Donna, when, uh…. Oh God this is hard. When was your last period?"</p>
<p>Donna grips the toilet bowl, chewing her cracker slowly and shakes her head.</p>
<p>"You don't know or you haven't had it?"</p>
<p>She nods, then shakes her head, then nods again. She can tell I am confused, but all the head shaking makes her nausea come back, so she white knuckles the toilet and dry heaves a few more times. Then with one hand on the toilet just to make sure she can get back to it quickly, she reaches into the bathroom cabinet where she momentarily searches around blindly before producing a white box. I already know where this is going, remember, I knew it was going to be one of those days when I woke up, but actually seeing the words Pregnancy Test on the box makes my mouth go dry and the color drain from my face.</p>
<p>So that is how I found myself, after a meeting with Andy in legislative affairs and before a meeting with Senator Stackhouse, perched nervously on the edge of my desk, while my assistant uses my phone to call her lady doctor. Yes, I know, I am immature, but I don't have those parts and the stories I have heard, ok, they were gruesome. So yes, I am ok asking her about her period, but I get the shivers at the word gynecologist.</p>
<p>I can't imagine watching some doctor man handle my favorite part of Donna. Actually, second favorite part. Stop it. I meant her brain, ok. She's really smart, though it seems neither of us have been so smart here recently.</p>
<p>Donna looks up at me from her phone conversation with the receptionist. "She wants to know when we, uh, conceived."</p>
<p>"How the hell should I know," I shrug. I'm not trying to be a jerk, I really don't know - there has been a lot of sex, I mean a lot - and I feel like the doctor should be able to help with that question, it's her job, isn't it?</p>
<p>Donna rolls her eyes and returns to the phone receiver. "My last period? Hold on, I used to keep that in my planner."</p>
<p>She shuffles through the papers on my desk and finds my schedule, yes MY schedule, this isn't like her diary, or her day planner, it's my work schedule. When she finds it, I can feel my anxiety building with every page she flips backward in time. Hers is, too, because she starts stammering. "I must have forgotten to write one down."</p>
<p>For the next few moments I just see Donna nod and say ok. Then she jots down a note on the schedule in front of her, thanks the receptionist and hangs up.</p>
<p>"I have an appointment on Thursday at 11. I will take a long lunch. You have a lunch meeting at that time with Chris Carrick, so you won't miss me," she says while thrusting the schedule for the week at me. I don't take it from her or even look at it. Not only do I trust her implicitly with my schedule, I can't read her handwriting on a good day, much less a day like today where both of us are practically shaking.</p>
<p>I feel myself nod at her and she moves toward my office door. She can't look at me. Her hand is on the doorknob and she’s poised to leave when the most inappropriate thing comes flying out of my mouth before I can stop it.</p>
<p>"You were keeping track of your period in my official schedule?!" I try not to yell, but it does kind of sound like yelling. Ok, it wasn't the most inappropriate thing I could have said, but I am not ready to deal with that yet, so it was the most inappropriate thing I was capable of saying at that moment.</p>
<p>"Josh, don't shout!" She shrieks and quickly walks back to me. "I did it in code, no one would ever know." She's thrusting the schedule at me open to the date of her last menstrual cycle. I can't help but look down to see and note that she's right. She has a series of checks and dashes, circles and some one letter codes that in her handwriting simply look like squiggles. And that's when I realize she's been keeping track of more than just her period.</p>
<p>"What the hell does all this mean, it looks like the code of Hammurabi. Were you keeping track of everything?" I say incredulously as I page back through the calendar.</p>
<p>She blushes. "Well not everything." She draws the last word out.</p>
<p>Something is drawing me to keep looking at the scribbles made on the month I’ve randomly paged to from almost a year ago. There's something that my mind is grasping at understanding, but I am coming up short. "Donna these dates. Did you keep track of...?"</p>
<p>Donna looks sheepish and shrugs.</p>
<p>My eyebrows are now in my hair. "You kept track of when we had sex," I hiss. "In my work schedule?!"</p>
<p>Ok, now that was yelling, but right now, I am just imagining what the vein in Leo's forehead would be doing as he's paging through my schedule to see every time I had unprofessional relations with my assistant. I suspect there would be numerous and sundry threats on how to castrate me, likely with an audience. I wouldn't put him past employing a pack of wild dogs either. Later I will realize that the schedule isn't the only way Leo is going to find out about what we've been doing outside of work, but right now it's all I can think about.</p>
<p>"Well just the first couple times and on momentous occasions. After that I kinda lost track. It was a lot," Donna responds quickly.</p>
<p>"Oh my God. Donna. Your diary. This is stuff for your diary." And I know she has one. She got drunk one night and told me about what was in it. It's at least partly responsible for the mess we're in right now.</p>
<p>"I would have, but I didn't have time to keep track in my diary. You know, because of all the sex." She looks up at me with big, innocent eyes.</p>
<p>All I can do is look at her incredulously, mouth hanging open.</p>
<p>"It was a lot of sex, Josh," she says earnestly. "I always remove any of this before I file your old schedules she says pointing to her little codes, and," she starts to sound indignant, "I keep track of a lot more than just when we have sex, including when you work too much, have an episode or take your medicine late."</p>
<p>She is mad, now, I can see it in her eyes. I am upset too, but her last comment softened me and she knows that.</p>
<p>Then just as suddenly as she raised her voice, I see her face change and rushing to my door trying to hold back a sob. I had always heard pregnancy hormones made women crazy, and here is my proof-standing at my office door with her hand on the doorknob sobbing. And, of course, that's when CJ would walk in.</p>
<p>As I said, it's one of those days.</p>
<p>Donna knows I can't stand to see her crying. It is the most helpless feeling in the world. All I want to do is gather her into my arms and tell her it will be ok, which of course is a lie, but it's the lie we both need very dearly to believe right now. Add this to the fact that I am trying to calculate just how long CJ was near my door before she opened it and just how soundproof my office door is and the look on my face is something much deeper than annoyance.</p>
<p>Donna takes one look at CJ, shudders out an "I'm sorry," though I am not sure to who and then slides past CJ out the door with only a muttered excuse me. As she's sprinting out the door, I have an immediate and visceral reaction. I lunge forward with both arms as though I want to catch Donna's hands and pull her into my arms, but I stop myself mid-stride and let my hands fall helplessly to my sides. Fortunately, CJ is too busy watching Donna leave to notice my movements.</p>
<p>"What do you need CJ?" My voice is hard.</p>
<p>"I was just coming to talk with you about the Cochran thing before you go meet with Stackhouse, but it looks like you have other concerns," she says, still looking out my open door in the direction Donna had gone. "What is wrong Donna?"</p>
<p>"Nothing, I think she's just being a little sensitive today."</p>
<p>"Well considering how much you yell at her I think your perception of sensitive may be off base."</p>
<p>I wince. Could she hear what I was yelling about? Suddenly I imagine CJ's face in the front row as wild dogs tear at my testicles. I shudder at the thought and CJ eyes me strangely.</p>
<p>"Listen, she's not ok, but she will be. She's just, I'm just, we're both just having a day." I say as I pull my hand through my hair for the 25th time today. I always heard children will make you lose your hair, I think I'm going to prove that to be true.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. S's and C's</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"I'm sorry I made you cry earlier. I shouldn't have yelled." I try to make my voice as contrite as possible even though I am still freaking out about her coding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I've just finished my meeting on the Hill with Stackhouse and one of his lackeys and I'm relieved to find Donna camped out in my office, eyes still puffy from crying earlier, but bearing lunch for both of us.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donna shakes her head, "It wasn't about that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pauses, opening bags and boxes to sort out our food and I take that as my opportunity to assuage my guilt by continuing, "I am an asshole. I was upset over the thought of someone getting wind of that and making this into something tawdry when it's not." I'm prepared to keep going, but she cuts me off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Josh, you are a very powerful man screwing your assistant. Their assumption may be right about our relationship, but not because of the schedule. I was joking earlier."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Huh?" I pick up the date book from under a take-out salad container and look at it again. "Donna there is S which was clearly for sex and C for- well I didn't realize I was that generous, but..." I stop when I see Donna is now raising an eyebrow at me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're not," she says flatly. "S for senate and C for congress you idiot."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You didn't? You really were just joking?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh my God yes, I track big votes and committee meetings each week so I know when to prep for you to be crazy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So, you weren't actually….?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, I mean the dates probably do look familiar. When you are amped up about an errant congressman or big victory, that is one of the best ways to calm you down."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I let out a breath. "I can't believe you let me think that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It was getting pretty funny watching you try to figure out what method Leo would want to use to castrate you. I thought the pack of wild dogs was a good one."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I've always known Donna could read my mind, but now I am really impressed. It's then that we both go silent because the same realization has dawned on both of us at the same time. There's going to be no way to hide Donna's pregnancy from Leo. He's gonna castrate me anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"If you were messing with me then why did you start crying? You love getting me worked up," I say, trying to push away thoughts of future punishment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't really know. I think as I was watching you realize what would happen when this became public knowledge it all just suddenly became overwhelming. I realized what I had to do and it just, it was my turn to freak out."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I look at her, confused. Usually we can read each other's minds, right now I am not sure we are speaking the same language.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What you have to do?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I meant I have to," she takes a shaky breath and I can see tears start to form in her eyes. "You know, take care of it." She looks away quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Huh? Take care of it how?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her head snaps back and her eyes meet mine. "You don't?" She pauses and takes another deep breath. "You don't want me to get rid of it?" Her words end in a whisper as if she can't believe she is even proposing the idea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What?! No!" Once again, the words just fly out of my mouth with no regard to how they'll be perceived by the recipient. It's an illness, really. It's not that I am anti-abortion, it's just, this is my kid. "I would never ask you to do that. Besides, this might be my only chance to have a kid after Leo is done with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles through fresh tears and I feel my heart constrict. I am sure what I am saying surprises her, frankly it surprises me, but I keep going.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I mean I have serious concerns about raising a child with my genes, and you know, argumentative nature, but my mom survived and frankly bachelors who pass the family trust fund on to charity because they can't figure it out with a woman are just pathetic." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donna cocks her head at me and I realize I have never mentioned a trust fund before. Thankfully she lets it go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I've looked at the inter-office dating policy," she says. "This isn't against the rules as long as I am a willing participant and it doesn't affect our job performance or create a conflict of interest."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, I know this, I technically manage hundreds of employees including Donna, inter-office dating happens. When you are here as many hours as we are usually here it's probably easier to have an inter-office relationship, but that's not really our issue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"They can't fire us for this, but that doesn't stop the media from making us a sideshow distraction and they certainly can fire us for being a distraction," I remind her calmly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh God, the right-wing media," she says like she hasn't thought about it before. Which I guess is good because I have thought about it enough for the both of us. I can't tell you how many times I have looked over my shoulder as we've walked into my apartment together at night, I’ve actually been dreaming about camera flashes for months.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"They're going to call me an opportunistic whore," she says with a horrified look on her face. "That I slept my way into a position above my experience and education level."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well you just insinuated you were a willing participant," I tease as I take a bite of salad. I hate salad and she knows it, but suddenly I have a reason other than continuing to have energetic sex with my girlfriend to want to avoid putting a strain on my heart. She gives me an exasperated look. Once again, my mouth is batting 1000.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How can you possibly joke about that Josh? I didn't intend to get pregnant and ruin our careers." She is indignant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I sigh. "Our careers aren't necessarily at risk. Like you said, what we did isn't technically against policy, we can't be fired for starting a family." Donna has a visible reaction when I say the word ‘family’ and I am hoping it's a good one, so I continue. "The way I see it we have a few options."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We do?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, let's start with the one I like the least first." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donna nods and takes a bite of her sandwich. I am momentarily distracted by the fact that I am happy she's eating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We tell no one you're pregnant. In fact, we pretend you aren't pregnant, that everything is normal and keep your profile very low, no traveling unless absolutely necessary, no outings with senior staff. When the pregnancy becomes public knowledge, either because you start showing or someone at your doctor's office leaks it, we go with the standard The White House doesn't comment on the personal lives of its staff non-comment. We never confirm who the father is or even that you are pregnant in the hope that the media doesn't ever figure it out or gives up and lets it blow over."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donna nods, "That doesn't sound so bad."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Here's why it won't work."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ok, it if won't work then why are we discussing it?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Because it's an option. On the surface it sounds good, and I want to discuss it because it will help put the other options in perspective."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ok…? Go on."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"First, to really pull that off you have to move back into your apartment and you can't get caught seeing me in an…extracurricular fashion…or it will blow the whole thing."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok that’s bad,” she frowns. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Second, it's going to get out anyway. Once people know you're pregnant and not married or seriously dating someone, the conservative press is going to say I am the father."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Which of course isn't a lie," she throws out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"People will say things, sell their story. Probably your roommate first, she knows you've been all but living with me for, well I don't even know when, but it's been a while."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"She won't do that!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"For enough money, she will,” I pause letting her take that in before I continue. “The other assistants may resent you for making them a spectacle without warning them or at least explaining yourself beforehand and trusting their confidence. And the thing that actually bothers me the most, well aside from the fact that I pretty much won't be able to see you outside of work, is that any financial support I provide would look like I am buying your silence. And all this goes just until the baby is born and you list me on the birth certificate."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I finish and take a breath. Donna looks at me and I can tell she's nonplussed. "Ok drama boy, what's next?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't believe me?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Josh, the press could give two shits about me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't swear in front of the baby!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's not a baby, it's a bundle of cells."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ok, it's unbecoming. And you're right, the White House press corps knows you and while it's likely they will care on a personal, congratulatory level, it's not likely they will write about it. It's the gossip columnists who will as spurred on the many enemies I have had the pleasure of creating in this fair town."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donna huffs and blows a stray hair out of her face. "Ok, enough of that option, what's next?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We quickly find you a new job. Preferably a promotion and preferably in the private sector. If anyone gets wind of the pregnancy, we make a joint announcement that when we decided to pursue a romantic relationship, you took a new position so there wouldn't be any perceived conflict of interest. We are now happily planning the arrival of our first child and thank everyone for respecting our privacy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well besides the obvious issue with me getting a new job and you slowly going crazy without my considerable supervision, a bigger salary doesn't sound bad. Doesn't this still leave you open to criticism? You still screwed your secretary and then got rid of her."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nod while choking down another bite of lettuce. "Yes, but if we're living together I didn't really get rid of you. It's less of a media storm, protects your job entirely and gives me a better chance at keeping mine, although without you I am more likely to get fired just simply because I am left to my own devices to screw things up."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Any other options?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I pause, searching her face. Here goes. "There's the oldest option in the book. Donna Moss, how do you fancy a shotgun wedding?" Her eyes get as wide as saucers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you out of your mind?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well if I didn't already know what a knife to the heart felt like, I know now. But I don't dwell on it. It's a good plan so switch to strategy mode and charge on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No. Come on, we are already living together, already know everything about each other. You take better care of me than my own mother. You cook better than her, too."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes, "I don't think marriage should be so lightly undertaken for political expediency. Also, there’s take out."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Donna look me in the face and tell me you've never thought about being married to me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn't look at me. She knows I am right, I didn't read the diary, but she told me what was in there. "Children need stability. Marriage can be a good foundation for that," I say soothingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Who turned you into a secret republican? You're prolife, pro marriage? What next?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, stop it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't feel prepared to make this decision right now," she says dropping her head in her hands dramatically. I don't say anything, I just watch her. "Oh, come on I don't see you on one knee with a ring," she says when I don't have a follow up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I sigh, "That's because it's in the safety deposit box being well, safely kept."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes are pleading now. "No, Josh, seriously we cannot decide this now, or today or maybe even this month. And shouldn't we be talking to CJ about this?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, we will, but we need a plan before we do.” And I want a little longer with my kneecaps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How long can we think this over?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Depends. This is the doctor you've been seeing for years, right? All your annual exams?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donna nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well that might buy us a little more time than we'd had if it had been a new doctor. We really need to have a plan in place before it leaks, and if we are getting married, we need to do so as quickly as possible. The longer we are married before the announcement the better."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You want me to grill my doctor on how she will prevent her staff from violating HIPPA?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It couldn't hurt."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Josh, no!" She says tossing the empty lunch containers in the trash can, except that hers really isn't empty, which kind of worries me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We're not talking about this anymore. I have work to do and you have a country to run," she says as she leaves my office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well that went well. Like I said before. One of THOSE days.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Very Deep Lake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>We're lying in bed and he's absently running his hand over my stomach. It's almost 2 a.m., we didn't get home that long ago. I'm exhausted and twitchy and don't really want to be touched, but something about his actions sets me at peace so I let him continue.</p>
<p>"Have you given any more thought to my proposal?" He asks quietly. I can tell he's been brooding over it and my reaction all day. Most people just see him as cocky and egotistical, but I get to see his vulnerable side every now and again and I love it. It's what reminds me that he really is in love with me even if we've never actually said the words.</p>
<p>"No, I'm still not ready to consider marriage," I respond. "Have you given any other thought about the other option that I suggested?"</p>
<p>He doesn't answer me right away, he's trying to process what I mean, but I can't bring myself to actually say it out loud so I let him think on it.</p>
<p>"What? You mean terminating the pregnancy? No, I thought I was clear on that, I don't want you to terminate the pregnancy. I suppose it's your decision, but I really, really would prefer you didn't have an abortion."</p>
<p>"I can respect that, but you realize this isn't an outfit I'm picking out, or even the decision to move in with you? Those things, they can be reversed. You can choose different clothes. I can move out if you decide I take over too much of your closet. This is a baby we're talking about. A living, breathing human being that will have needs and feelings and emotions. A baby that will need the love and care of both of its parents for likely the next 21-25 years but really for the rest of its life. It's going to get in the way of your social life, your home life, your job, you name it. It's a baby."</p>
<p>Yes, I realize what I am saying. I just confirmed it this morning, but I've suspected I was pregnant for at least two weeks and I already consider the embryo inside me a baby. I really have no intention of terminating the pregnancy. Even if he'd wanted me to do it, I am not sure I would have agreed to do it. I just want him to really think this through before he blindly jumps into the pool and finds out it's a very deep lake.</p>
<p>I have nieces and nephews and did a lot of babysitting in my day. I know how much work kids are and I have a pretty good idea of how difficult it would be to fit one into the strange thing we have called a life. Although I do suspect Josh loves me, our relationship isn't so well-defined right now and neither is our future. When he comes home one day to find his son pees sitting down on the toilet like a sissy because he didn't have time to properly potty train him, serious questions about how we came to the decision to move forward with this pregnancy will be asked. A marriage proposal won't simply fix that.</p>
<p>He now laughs, it's kind of sad laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.</p>
<p>"First, what social life? Donna, I swear to God, I'm almost 40 years old and I always imagined that if I was in this situation I'd be freaking out, but honestly, I'm not. It's a baby. If we can run the country we can figure out how to raise a kid. Frankly, we owe it to the American public to have this baby and get ready to put him or her in White House in 45 years. So, married or not, we'll have a baby. My mother will be thrilled, your mother will have to find a way to hate me a little less and we'll move on. But I really would like you to consider the marriage thing a little more. I know it wasn't a very romantic proposal, but I think you knew the bar was pretty low there to begin with. Kids need stability and the Republicans get it right when they say that marriage is good for that."</p>
<p>I lay there quietly and listen to him breathe. As exhausted as I am, I couldn't sleep anyway so now I'm mulling over his words. I am from the Family Values Midwest. Contrary to what others might tell you, I know several marriages which were borne out of unintended pregnancies and most of them succeeded. But regardless of the reason you get married, marriage is a lot of work. Hard work and sacrifice. It's also rife with opportunities for resentment. More so in our case when we are talking about career implications for him. Josh's career is his identity and I can't help but think he's going to come to his senses about that here any minute and realize what a bad idea this is. There is a reason this relationship is a secret. But for now I have to wait for him to think it through and be thankful that this is his proposed solution to our situation. Life could be much worse.</p>
<p>I turn over slightly and kiss him. "You know you really can be sweet sometimes. I'm not ready to make a decision about marriage or the future at this time, I mean other than keeping the baby, but I'm really glad I'm doing this with you."</p>
<p>He smiles and kisses me back. Then his hand slides down to the waistband of my shorts.</p>
<p>"Oh my God, you can't actually be thinking about that right now, can you?" I say, mildly horrified.</p>
<p>He doesn't respond verbally, instead he kisses my shoulder.</p>
<p>"Josh, I'm pregnant and sick and disgusting right now."</p>
<p>"I don't think you're disgusting at all, you're pregnant with my baby," he says smoothly. All day I have been avoiding thinking about this pregnancy and he's been bringing it up. I am starting to wonder if he is more excited about this baby than I am. If so, what does that say about my fitness as a mother?</p>
<p>"Dear God, you're actually turned on by the idea that you got me pregnant, aren't you?"</p>
<p>"Maybe." Now his hand slides further and I feel it getting dangerously close to…</p>
<p>"Are you kidding? Do you want me to throw up on you?" I shriek. "It's late and I'm exhausted. Go to sleep, Josh." I say and turn over so he's spooning me again. Properly chastened his hand stops moving and comes to settle on my stomach. But I'm pretty sure I can feel him smirking.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Unmarried, and With My Boss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"It has your nose," she says slamming the sonogram picture down on my desk. I pick it up and look at it. It's black and white and mostly shadows, but there in the middle is a tiny oval with a printed arrow and BABY! written next to it in a blocky typeface. The technician must have added to the print to help distinguish, to a lay person what the print shows. It's weird, but suddenly it feels like I'm holding my whole world in my hands. Donna really is pregnant with my child. How the hell did that happen and moreover, how virile am I for making it happen!? I can't help but feel smug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So, the doctor said everything is ok?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, everything is lovely, I'm a healthy 25-year-old who got knocked up by her much older boss. Just peachy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her comment worries me. I don't often think of her age in contrast to mine. "I meant about your health, the pregnancy, the baby."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, we're all fine."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I exhale with relief. I didn't really realize I was worried, but her visit to the doctor dredged up feelings that I didn't know I had. She won't look at me so I move around my desk and pull her hands into mine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"When did the doctor say we, ah..."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"February 6th."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The night of the State of the..."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Josh, seriously how did this happen, we were so careful, we used condoms and you..."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"A what? A condom, we haven't used those in like, years."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Josh, I don't even remember what happened the night of the State of the Union, the mood was celebratory, we'd had so much to drink. Please, please tell me you used a condom."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, you didn't stop me!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Josh, I was too busy being drunk and taken advantage of!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey you were willing!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I know! But not without a condom!" Her voice is hysterical at this point and I'm back to wondering how sound-proof my door is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But we don't usually use them, how was I supposed to know?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Josh, I specifically told you I had missed my doctor's appointment and we'd have to use other protection for the next month or two until they could get me in to renew my prescription, I even bought condoms and put them in your night stand!" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now I feel like an asshole.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Donna, I forgot." I try to get her to look me in the eye as I run my over the back of her hand in what I hope is a soothing manner. "It's gonna be ok, you know that, right?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I hear her take in a shaky breath. "I always wanted to be a mom, Josh. I just never thought it would be like this," she whispers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Like what?" I ask gently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Unmarried, and with my boss," she says flatly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh." It's good to know she wants kids. Bad that she doesn't want them with me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You really freaked me out on Monday. What if the press does get ahold of this?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well you could reconsider my offer?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She purses her lips into a thin line. "No, I'm not making a decision like that right now."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Donna!" I whine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ok, I am going to talk to CJ now," she announces suddenly and begins to turn for the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What? Wait, I am coming with you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, you aren't. You will say something stupid and cause a scene."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I won't. Wait, what are you going to tell her?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just enough so that if this does leak, like you are so sure it will, that she's not blindsided."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you have to tell her now? I mean, you haven't even decided on a plan."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"This is so I can buy myself more time to think over the plan, you idiot. In all of your strategizing has it not occurred to you that I may be freaking out a little bit here and having a female friend with whom I could share my situation might be helpful?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her comment hurts, I feel like I should be her confidant, but I also understand that having a woman to talk with could be helpful, so I deflect. "You shouldn't let the baby hear you call me an idiot."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn't respond and before I can try to talk her out of it, she turns and leaves, shutting my door behind her.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Forgive me CJ</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Carol does she have a moment?" I ask as I hold up a cup of coffee as an explanation. It's one of the special holiday blends CJ loves. Something to do with spring – Starbucks has a special blend for anything now days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carol looks up briefly from her phone call then nods and waves me toward the door without another glance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I knock lightly with my knuckles and peek in as I hear CJ yell, "Yeah."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks slightly startled to see me. Suddenly I am self-conscious as I place the coffee in front of her like a peace offering. The smell is also starting to make me nauseated so I back away a little, but don't sit. I'm Protestant, but I imagine this is a little what it must be like to confess your sins to a priest. Bless me CJ for I have sinned. I got knocked up by Josh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Donna...you brought me coffee?" She gives me a sincere look of concern. She knows I don't just bring anyone coffee. "Is everything ok?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I let out a shaky breath. "You know how you're our first call, right?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods slowly, I can tell her interest is piqued about where this is going. I pull the sonogram picture out of my back pocket. My hand is trembling as I pass it to her. I let her study it for a minute before I add, "I'm due October 29th."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks up at me with genuine surprise. "Congratulations! I didn't even know you were seeing someone," she says as she gestures for me to sit in one of her guest chairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"For a little while, well," I stop, "it's complicated." CJ nods. "I feel like this is the kind of discussion that needs to happen over a bottle of wine and I can't have any." I say as I drop down into the chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She studies me for a minute. "What does Josh think?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What does Josh think?" I ask her with an edge of hysteria in my voice. "I don't even know what I think!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh God, I’m sorry, Donna. I didn't mean...you know if you make the decision," she pauses, "if you make the decision not to go through with the pregnancy it's not a moral reflection on you, I of all people, would absolutely have to defend that choice."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I smile softly. "That also sounds like a discussion that requires a bottle of wine. Thank you for that, but right now I am not leaning to that. CJ, I always wanted a baby, children really, I just never pictured myself in this situation and Josh has me all freaked out."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So, you told him?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, sorry, I guess you weren't really my first call. Actually, my doctor was. And of course I had to explain to Josh why I looked sea sick every morning and the smell of his cologne was sending me running to vomit. So, yeah, he knows too."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And how inappropriate was his response?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, it was pretty bad. He seems to think there could be quite a lot of media interest in a young, unmarried assistant to a senior staffer who turns up pregnant. Seemed to think enemies of the administration could start casting aspersions about me or other members of the staff, specifically him. Then he suggested that if I want to avoid that, that I find a private sector job or, he even suggested I hurry up and get married."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I wish I had a camera to capture the look on CJ’s face. Horrified doesn't quite cut it. She's some blend of incredulous and apoplectic. I know I'm not doing Josh any favors here, but I am suffering daily morning sickness to gestate his child, the least he can do is unwittingly play my patsy in my plan. After letting CJ digest what I just told her. I appeal to her for advice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Is he blowing this media thing out of proportion? CJ, believe it or not, I really like my job. I’m doing good work for a good cause. And, yes Josh is an arrogant ass sometimes, but he's a good boss when he's not making me work all hours. Honestly, I have no idea how I will do this job with an infant, but I don't really think pregnancy is the right time to go making changes of that magnitude either."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well I don't think a new job is the best way to go either," she says. "It could make the scandal bigger, make it look like we've run you out and we're trying to hide you. Plus, I frankly don't want to deal with a Josh who doesn't have a Donna who is running his office. We'll all kill him without you around."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I smile and brush aside an errant tear at her comment. "Josh really would be bad without me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"As for the gossip, well that's a possibility. We're all close. We've been to the bars together, been at your apartment. Toby and I aren't over that much, but Sam has been and it sounds like Josh is there a lot."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And when he is, it's totally above board. My roommate can attest." I hold up my hands as if to show they are empty. It's not a lie, when my roommate is there we are the picture of propriety. And hey, I disinfected the kitchen table after we had sex on it the weekend she was away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sure, but if someone is offering her money for her story, the stories may not be so above board or full of truth. Because you're not married Josh is likely be the first person they'd try to pin the paternity on."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can't suppress the grimace that takes over my face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Calm down. We all know Josh can barely find his desk much less his way into a woman's pants." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I laugh, if only she knew just how good he actually was at that. "Well he had Mandy, right?" I offer weakly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sure, but imagine them in bed, she's so bossy she was probably ordering him around like an admiral. It's hard to go wrong when you're getting point by point instructions. Not very romantic, though," she muses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now I can't help but imagine Mandy in bed with Josh. I shudder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>CJ smiles wickedly, "you're imagining it now, aren't you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nod.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sorry."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ok, changing the subject now. So, I have a lot of thinking to do."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, it sounds like you do. What can I help with?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, right now, I just need your discretion, I'm still a ways away from that magic 12/13 weeks mark when the risk of miscarriage goes down. I'd prefer have no one other than who already knows, know, if you understand." I'm not sure I understand what I just said but CJ gives me a reassuring look. Most women understand why it’s important to keep early pregnancy quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At this point I realize that CJ hasn't once asked me who the father of the baby is or what he thinks. Maybe she's just being sensitive to my need for privacy but it's also possible she thinks this a just the product of a one-night stand. Although I don't feel like I need to prove anything to CJ on that account, for some reason it matters that she knows it wasn't.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"CJ, this isn't—this was unexpected, but I'm not a slut. If it gets out, anyone in DC telling stories about having slept with me will probably be lying."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>CJ waves me off. "Once you have the baby we'll have that bottle of wine discussion. In the meantime, congratulations. Let me know if there's any other news I should know about."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nod and thank her as I move to her door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"CJ don't," I pause, searching for the right words. "Don't give Josh a hard time about this. He's just trying to protect me, and of course the President, from unwanted attention and scandal."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She snorts, "And himself most of all. Don't forget that, Donna."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I wince. She's so spot on she doesn't even know how right she is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll let him off the hook for now, but only because I'm satisfied that you let him have it already."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Knowing my work here is done, I nod and slip quietly out her door as I mentally cross her name off my very long to do list. There is truly no rest for the wicked.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Terms and Conditions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing I notice is that Donna’s chewing gum vigorously. This is something she'd normally never do since she usually finds gum disgusting, but over the course of the last week she's found gum and hard candies help keep her morning sickness at bay.</p>
<p>She hands me coffee, which is when I get worried. Not only has the smell off coffee been nauseating her, but she never gets me coffee. Nay, refuses to get me coffee. I raise a curious eyebrow at her when she hands me the cup as I stumble into the kitchen.</p>
<p>"Over the past week," she starts carefully, "I have come to reconsider my position on your marriage proposal. I have come to realize, as unromantic as it was, that you made said proposal out of love for me and our unborn child and I think it may be a good decision for all of us no matter how unromantically it was proposed."</p>
<p>I smile even through the dig about the lack of romance. What did she really expect anyway? If she wanted romance she should have gone after Sam, I have a reputation to uphold after all.</p>
<p>She pauses pregnantly. I can tell there's more and she's waiting for me to catch up.</p>
<p>"But there are some conditions and I have a plan that may diverge slightly from what you had in mind," she says.</p>
<p>I look over at our overnight bags which are neatly lined up by the door. We are due at the White House in 45 minutes to get on Air Force One for a trip to a fundraiser in LA. This means there is just enough time for her to lay out her demands and not enough time for me to argue. Damn, she's good. When I look back, she looks serious, but I can also tell there is a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. She knows I just figured out her plan and that I know she's got me backed into a corner. Check and Mate.</p>
<p>"Go on," I say with a sigh of resignation. I watched my parents' marriage for the first 36 years of my life, I know what's coming next and it's better if I just get it over with and hand her my testicles now.</p>
<p>"As requested, we will get married quickly, but not until the end of my first trimester when the risk of miscarriage subsides. We will have a real, albeit hastily planned, wedding with a pastor, photographer and cake. I will ask my mother to help plan it. We will get married in Wisconsin with my family and your mother in attendance. You should have Sam as your best man. I will plan a meeting with the local DNC chair in my parents' district to give a plausible cover to why you're out there at the same time as the wedding.</p>
<p>“I plan to announce the pregnancy to my family as happy news after we’re married. I do not want anyone insinuating that this wasn't planned anymore than we can avoid. However, as I am pregnant and would prefer not to have any media involved in my life, we will keep the wedding and marriage quiet. There will be no announcement in any papers. I will wear a wedding ring plus any engagement ring you are willing to offer me, but I will not take your name legally until we are out of the White House. You will wear your wedding ring on your right hand so as not draw attention to the fact that you are now married.</p>
<p>“After our wedding, I will tell CJ I got married and offer up only the barest details she needs to head off any press questions. I do not plan to tell her about your involvement unless I have to. We will register our marriage certificate in Wisconsin. It isn't likely to be accidentally uncovered there, but if it does come out in the media, we won't be able to be accused of trying to hide anything either. I have no end game for when the baby comes, though. And I, of course, will list your name on the birth certificate and the baby will take your last name. I have to hope that at that point the baby will take the stun out of the scandal.</p>
<p>“Before we actually get married you must agree to sit down with me to discuss our future including our jobs, your diet and our plans for how we will parent this child and any future children among our other expectations for marriage including religion.</p>
<p>"I already set up a PO Box for my mail and yesterday I told my roommate that my boyfriend asked me to formally move in and that I wanted to help her find someone to sublet.”</p>
<p>This is a lot of information she pauses to see if I’ve caught up and want to disagree. When I don’t, she continues.  </p>
<p>“If you agree to this, I will call our parents, tell them our happy news and set a wedding date to correspond with a meeting with the Wisconsin DNC chair in about 3-4 weeks.”</p>
<p>It's surprisingly easy for me to stay quiet as Donna lists her demands and her plan. As I can expect it's well-reasoned and sound. I want to argue with her just for the sake of argument, but I am just so damn happy she's going to marry me that I am temporarily rendered speechless. I know, it's just temporary and probably very temporary at that. Plus, we don't have much time before we have to leave. If I am late for our flight, I don't very well want to explain to Leo that it's because I was arguing over the terms of a shotgun wedding with my assistant whom I have been schtupping. So instead I nod.</p>
<p>"The plan has a few holes, but I think I can live with it as long as I can call you Mrs. Lyman at home."</p>
<p>She smiles at me. "We can discuss that in the talk or series of talks I have mandated before the wedding. Now, let's go before we're late and we have to explain ourselves to Leo."</p>
<p>God, she's amazing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Don't Tell Mama</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I can't seem to stop my hands from shaking as I dial the phone. I'm calling from my now-barren apartment both because Josh let me off early and because I didn't want him to be around when I made this phone call. It's possible some things will get said that I don’t really want him to hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Mom answers I can tell she's surprised to hear from me. Our relationship has been strained since Christmas when I canceled my plans to come home so I could stay with Josh instead. I'm not sure what conclusions she drew about my relationship with Josh at that point, whatever they were, they probably weren't wrong. Regardless, both of us took a hit in her eyes. Josh for being the reason I wasn't coming home for Christmas and me for choosing him over them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of making small talk I immediately start with an apology. Even though relationships are a two-way street I have found that in my relationship with my mother it's just easier if I assume the submissive role first. Then, when I have her on my side, I go in for the kill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mom, I have wonderful news. I'm getting married!" I squeal the last word with excitement that I don't really feel. Instead I feel like I want to puke, but my mother can't know that. No, got to lay that one on at the right time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pause, to let my words sink in but not long enough to let my mother respond. "I'd really, really like to have a small wedding at home, just family and close friends. I've checked our schedules and I'd like to see if you could help me get something set up for the second week in May. I'd really like Pastor Bryan, but Josh is Jewish so he's fine with a judge or anyone licensed."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Donna, that's less than 6 weeks from now." She's flustered, which is exactly my plan. I've got her focused on the date, not the fact that I'm getting married to a man she's never met.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, yes, it is, but you know how schedules run around here, got to get it out of the way before midterms."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the shoe drops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Donna, midterm elections aren't until November. We're talking about you getting married in May to a man I've never met. When's the due date?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well that didn't work so well. Before I respond I have to swallow my frustration at her comment about never having met Josh. Sure I didn't tell her Josh and I were involved, but she's been invited many times to DC to meet him and all of my coworkers. I’ve been busy, not trying to shut her out of my life completely. Once I can respond without apparent anger in my voice I answer her, "October 29."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hear a noise muffling the receiver and then my mother shouting at my father to get on the other extension of the phone as she starts filling him in on our very short, but very informative (her words, not mine) conversation up until this point. When she finishes, I'm not even sure what to say, but I try anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mom, I can't even believe I am saying this, but I need you to understand that this isn't just a fling. Josh and I, we’ve been together for almost two years." I leave out the "sleeping," figuring it was implied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hear my mom make a noise not unlike she's being strangled. "You're sleeping with your boss? For two years?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently she got the implication just fine and I'm left wondering, would it seriously have been better if my pregnancy was the product of a one night stand with some local gomer? I guess then she could rationalize it away as a lapse in judgment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of dwelling on that, I find myself needing to revise this little part of my history, "Mom, it’s more than just sleeping together. We’re in a committed relationship.” The committed part is a bit of a stretch. It's not like Josh and I were sleeping around but our level of commitment has been fairly undefined until now. She doesn't respond so I continue. “We've been living together for almost a year and he’s asked me to marry him a while ago, I’m just only getting to actually planning the wedding now that we’re under a little bit of a deadline. I am sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but it's complicated. It's complicated because of my job and his job and…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't feed me that line Donna. He's a powerful man screwing his young, blonde secretary who didn't even finish college. He made a mistake and now to save face he's got to fix his mistake by marrying you before he becomes a political pariah."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there it is ladies and gentlemen, the root of all of my insecurities. The reason I held off more than three weeks in making a decision about how I wanted to handle Josh's marriage proposal. My mother isn't a media consultant. She's a housewife from Wisconsin and yet she's just laid bare all the things that Josh and I have been strategizing about over the past few weeks with limited input from CJ.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Donna, you know how this works, what the hell were you thinking?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gee, I don't know Mom, maybe that I love him and trust him and expected him to do the right thing by me, and guess what, he is!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, yes, it sounds like he is, but what are the conditions? Quitting your job? Keeping it quiet? Are you signing a prenup?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her words confuse me. Does she even know what a prenuptial agreement is or did she hear it on TV? We’re public servants. He’s making a quarter of what he’d make in the private sector. Neither of us has money to bring to the marriage. And, of course it needs to be kept quiet, but that was my rule, not his. I don't want my life to join the media circus that frequently surrounds Josh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What? Are you kidding me? Yes, I would like to keep this low key, there is a baby involved. And even if I was asked to sign a prenuptial agreement, what good does it do? I've got no money to protect and he's on a government salary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hear her sigh and start to mount a response, but I cut her off before she can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to continue to interrogate me, or accept that I am not the first one in this family who needed to get married quickly and help me do just that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs again. "Of course I will, I just worry about you and I have to admit, I am a little disappointed. I thought after the dropping out of college and moving in with your boyfriend stunt you were over this streak of irresponsibility. I thought having a job in the White House would help you grow up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Great. It's been 4 years and my mother is still worried I am going to repeat the mistakes of my past, except now she's afraid I am going to show up penniless AND knocked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Disappointed about what? Mom, I'm not 16. Disappointed that your 25-year-old daughter is starting a family with a man with whom she's been in a relationship for two years? Would you have rather he told me to get rid of it?" I have to admit, I was going for blood there. I was raised staunchly anti-abortion. My mother would have disowned me if she knew I had considered an abortion for even half a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, of course not!" She shoots back immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well then be happy and trust that we are doing the right thing." I say resolutely even though I am starting to falter a bit. She's not entirely wrong when she assumes Josh's proposal is to save face, it's just that it's to protect us, too. Fortunately, my father decides it's time to make his presence known.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It sounds to me like getting married is the only thing you are doing right." He snorts and hangs up his end of the phone. Now that my father has spoken, the argument is over and my mother and I switch into planning mode. I got my planning gene from her and if we ever needed to get planning it’s now. My mother quickly starts making a list of all the wedding vendors we have to contact and we split them up based on if she has a friend or a friend of a friend who can cut us a deal or not. My mother knows a lot of people in my hometown and this is one area that comes in handy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I assure her I will take care of the dress and get Josh in town with enough time for a quick meeting with the pastor and a rehearsal. And that's that. Conversation over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Parents in hand, I start looking up phone numbers I need to get pricing on flowers, food and most importantly beer. It's not a Moss wedding without a pregnant bride and beer and we'll be delivering on both accounts.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I promise the next chapter will be a little funnier. Josh just seems to be funnier in my mind than Donna, but I feel like this chapter explains a little more about Donna's thought process up until now so it was important if not a little less funny.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Awkward</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The lights are off when I get home, so I am not at all surprised to find Donna asleep when I stumble into the bedroom. She stirs slightly causing me to wince. It's well past 2 am and she needs rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're home later than I expected. Did you have a good time?" she asks, her voice is still in a sleepy haze that I find equal parts endearing and sexy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, that was easily the most awkward night of my life," I mutter as I strip my pants off and toss them generally in the direction I believe to be the clothes hamper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Josh, stop pretending it's so awkward for you to see strippers at bachelor parties with your friends. I know you all do it, you don't have to pretend you're not a man." Her voice holds a slight tone of resignation, but she doesn't sound upset. However, I am not too stupid to fall into that trap, she's never missed an opportunity to give me hell for the last bachelor party I attended a few years ago. I really have no idea how the red panties ended up around my neck. I was THAT drunk. Tonight, I wish I had been drunker. I have no idea why I let Sam talk me into attending a bachelor party for one of the junior staffers. Unlike others that I've attended, it was not a classy affair. The best man really fell down on the job on this one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I swear, you can ask anyone there, there were no strippers, just a lot of alcohol and a lot of oversharing.” I've never played sports in any sort of serious league, but I can't imagine locker room talk ever gets any worse than what I heard tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean over to kiss her, but she wrinkles her nose as I get near her, "Ew, you reek of cigar smoke."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss her anyway, but instead of getting into bed I change course and head for the bathroom where I run my head under the sink and wash my face in an effort to get some of the smoke smell off of me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, if there were no strippers, what was so awkward about tonight?" Donna calls from the bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, just lots of undersexed junior employees exaggerating their conquests and having dick measuring contests." I tell her as I towel off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Weren't they all White House staffers? I am surprised they have time to have story-worthy sexual conquests," she responds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well that was the issue. It started out as bragging, but they ran out of stories pretty quickly. Then it devolved into way too much drinking and sharing of office fantasies, which I guess is the consolation for not having time for a robust sex life," I explain as I slide under the covers and spoon up next to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donna chuckles, "I thought only women did that. The fantasies, I mean."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Apparently not."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Were there any good ones? Margaret would love to know if she was the star of the carnal talk of the operations boys."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am probably breaking some guy code of conduct when I tell you this, but a fair number of them were about you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I guess that's kind of flattering," she says. "Usually everyone is so focused on work at work that I didn't realize anyone had much time to think about elaborate sexual fantasies. Especially none about me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leave it to Donna to find the good in everything. I am not sure what to say to her. I decide to refrain from detailing for her the specific image that Ed planted in my head of Donna's alabaster skin contrasted against the dark color of my desk as he imagined himself pumping into her writhing naked body. Although artistically portrayed in his retelling, I especially didn't appreciate the end where I was left to find only the remnants of their passionate lovemaking left atop my blotter in the form of sweat and other commingled bodily fluids. Surely, he was too drunk to notice I was standing within earshot, as I gagged on my beer when he recounted the wet dream fantasy he has apparently often had about my soon to be wife. I wanted desperately to tell him that the planner thrust to the ground in his nighttime fantasies held so much more than just my schedule. Instead I was left scrubbing my hands over my face in a failed attempt to rid my mind of the newly imprinted images there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I also don't tell her how the other men then proceeded to add their fantasies to the mix. Many involved Donna, too, and I was left feeling sick and defensive as if this was some sort of imagined gang bang and I began to wonder if my insistence on keeping our relationship secret, and even encouraging Donna to do a little dating - even as we were regularly sleeping together - was a mistake since it opened her up to the depraved fantasies I heard tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the time, secrecy seemed like a good idea. Why subject our arrangement to the scrutiny of the press, pundits, and even worse, those in the administration worried about optics? Allowing Donna to date allowed not only the cover to keep things a secret, but it also allowed me to assuage my guilt over protecting my image by imagining that if she found the right person through that dating that it would be because I allowed her and even encouraged her to date. Of course, it was all a fallacy. I wanted her in my bed, not someone else's. The thought of her with someone else made me sick and I’m certain she knew this. Most nights after her dates she turned up at my place anyway. Sometimes to tell me about how the night went, sometimes just because she knew I worried, though perhaps not about what exactly. On one memorable occasion, one of the gomers was particularly aggressive in walking her to her door, which was actually my door, and inside for a good night kiss. Donna remembers the event differently than I do, but if he'd insisted on staying even 30 seconds longer, I was going to be forced to step in. Looking back, it was weird that we often had sex after her dates, but it went back to our original agreement and it was comfortable and reassuring and it worked. Kind of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I still feel guilty that I never really acknowledged it when my affection for her turned into love, or that I never really discussed it with her. Even now, when we're planning to get married we've still really never talked about our feelings. Logistics yes, feelings no. I wonder if she knows I love her. Surely she must, I wouldn’t have proposed marriage if I didn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub my hand over the slight rounding of her stomach. Donna swears it's just bloating, but I like to imagine our baby in there kicking away. As much as I love the baby being our secret. I will also love seeing her heavily pregnant, the evidence of my child growing inside her swollen belly for all to see. A wedding ring on her finger warning all of the would-be gomers that she's off limits now. Maybe that makes me a Neanderthal, but it's how I feel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Left with nothing else to tell her, I change the subject. "You never had any fantasies about me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donna snorts. "What did I need for fantasies? I already had you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know, a clandestine tryst in the basement of the White House? A quick hummer while I am taking a call with a particularly belligerent senator?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sounds like those are your fantasies, not mine," she says with a yawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ok, so what are yours?" I press. We've been having sex for a couple years now, and I think she's mostly satisfied, but it never hurts to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, for starters, I think our relationship has been clandestine enough. I don't think you or C.J. could have been more clear about what would happen if our relationship became public. And, for the record, most women don't fantasize about cramming under a desk and trying not to hit their head while sucking their boss off. I mean, if you really want that for like a birthday gift or something, I guess I'd make an exception."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ok, I guess that's fair," I nod into her hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I mean if you're talking sexual fantasies, what women really want is a guy who cares about her pleasure. Someone who knows his way around a g-spot, or is ok with oral sex is always nice. But in general, I don't think about that too much. I would say mine are more about commitment. Maybe more about trust. Trusting the other person wants you for more than just sex or a paycheck or a pretty girl in a dress to take to balls. It's been really hard to find that in my life." She says quietly, almost sadly. I can tell she's drifting back to sleep, though I'm not sure how. My heart is pounding so loud I'm sure it's deafening even for her. I want to overcome my fear of discussing our relationship, but even now I find myself tongue tied and unable to find the right words to reassure her that I don’t just want her for any of those things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel her breathing starting to even out again and I know she'll be asleep again soon, so I kiss her head and settle in next to her for a night of anxiety filled dreams.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: Admit it - didn't you always think Ed and Larry were kinda creepy?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Day Dreaming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's late afternoon on Saturday when CJ startles me as I'm lost in thought at my desk. With Josh stumbling in at the Devil's Hour last night, I'm even more sleep deprived than normal. Before CJ came up, I'd just finished asking Cathy to surreptitiously get a hold of Sam's good blue suit, the one that brings out his eyes, and arrange getting it to me for dry cleaning ahead of his trip to Wisconsin with Josh. They'll ostensibly be meeting with the Madison party chair so I fed her some line about how I had contacts in the office and the suit, much nicer than what he'd normally wear when traveling to a "fly over state," would endear him to the office manager there who has a thing for men with blue eyes. It was hard not to choke on my own lies. It was also hard to believe that Cathy doesn't have a key to Sam's house. Don't all assistants?</p><p>Once she knows I'm aware of her presence, CJ gives me a sympathetic look and a small smile. My left hand is resting on my stomach, so she assumes I'm thinking about the baby, but surprisingly, even to myself, I'm not.</p><p>Instead I'm obsessing about the idiot things I said to Josh right before I drifted off to sleep last night. Perhaps I'm remembering wrong and it really was a dream and I didn’t actually admit to him that I fear that he, and all men really, are just using me for sex or a paycheck or to be pretty girl in a dress to take to balls. What a pathetic admission. Thinking about it is actually giving me heartburn, or maybe it's the jalapeños I had with lunch.</p><p>I'm also a little lost in thought over the idea of becoming Mrs. Lyman in less than a week. I have to admit, marrying Josh is not something I've never considered, but certainly not something I'd thought about recently. The truth is, I like my life right now just the way it is. Or well, just the way it was up until a few months ago before we made the mistake of epic proportions.</p><p>If you'd have read my diary from a few years ago, before Josh and I actually got together and I stopped writing in it, you'd have thought marriage and children was all I'd wanted in life, but now I'm not so sure the things I'd valued in the past are so important. Not when I can see how my work is actually making a impact on our country and world.</p><p>Shortly after Josh had his "situation" around Christmas, I picked up my old diary and after writing a little I found myself flipping back to those old entries, to that girl I once was. They were so cringe-inducing that I had to stop reading. My late-teenage love sick desires were worse than a romance novel. Now, given the fact that my unexpected fertility has probably ruined Josh's career, I'll probably have to burn the thing.</p><p>None of my wants and needs turned out to be true anyway. Just as my conversation with Josh last night underlined, my actual relationship with Josh has lacked any of the romantic and emotional declarations my diary had hoped for. Instead our relationship has been filled with a domestic intimacy that the more mature version of me finds comforting. The kind of intimacy created from shared experiences and just generally wanting to spend time together.</p><p>Most of the time it doesn't bother me that – aside from laying out some ground rules about marriage, religion and future plans before I agree to marry him - we've never really discussed our relationship. Josh, for all his bluster, is an intensely private person. He likes bragging about his professional victories, but rarely talks about his personal life. In fact, most of the senior staff don't. It's as if serving the president means they're not allowed to acknowledge their personal needs and when they do, like Sam for example, they end up at best in the tabloids and at worst, a liability open to blackmail.</p><p>And yet, despite this, I know which side of the bed Josh likes to sleep on, how he likes his boxer shorts folded, how he makes coffee, eats his eggs and talks to himself (and often me) in the shower. I know how the way he touches me breathes familiarity and I know how he looks when he makes love. Ok, that last one probably was in my diary.</p><p>All these things, these domestic things, they're the things your wife knows about you, whether you've discussed your relationship in great detail or not. Somewhere deep in me I can feel that this "mistake" is probably the natural conclusion to something we've been brewing for years. Getting married is really the ultimate definition of a relationship. I’ll be his wife. But I can't suppress the idea that he might be doing this - marrying me and becoming a father - just out of obligation. That I've now made him the liability in the administration because I got knocked up. All if it makes me want to fall through the floor.</p><p>CJ's looking at me expectantly. "Is he free?" She asks, motioning to Josh's door. I nod and wave my hand at her in an opening gesture. With that she opens his door with a flourish and the last thing I can hear as she sweeps into his office and shuts the door is that she greets him with a cool and disdainful "Idiot Boy."</p><p>Yeah, yeah, I think we both get the 'Idiot' title this time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Art of Changing the Narrative</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Well, I think I can now add coward to the list of my official titles, because that's definitely what I have been today. Sam and I have just landed in Madison, and he's now surprised to see that Donna is waiting for us at the baggage claim dressed down in jeans and tennis shoes because, despite the almost 5 hours of flights and layovers we've shared this morning, I still haven't told him why we're really here. In fact, I am lucky he hasn't looked at his return ticket and asked why he's flying back on Sunday rather than tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be fair, I spent some time on the plane trying to formulate the right words. Debating if I ask him to be my best man, or just tell him about the wedding and his expected role. In the end, all I could do was make justifications to myself about why holding off on telling him would be better. It was hard enough to get myself on the plane as it was. Envisioning a poor reaction from Sam, in public no less, was definitely making my anxiety worse. It's not that I have cold feet, exactly...it’s just that Sam is actually putting things to words, words I am not ready to say out loud in public yet. Ok, maybe I do have cold feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thought about making Donna tell Sam about the wedding, but that felt wrong. He is my friend after all. Plus, Donna reminded me that she had to be the one to tell CJ, although she took the easy way out on that one. I say that because she conveniently left out some very important details. Details that CJ later came knocking down my door looking for. What did I know about the guy? How long had they been dating? Did I really tell Donna that finding a new job or hurrying up and getting married would be a good idea? Yeah, Donna really did me a disservice there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>CJ didn't totally eviscerate me, but she was pretty incensed by what Donna told her I said. Completely out of context I might add, since CJ still doesn’t know it’s actually my baby. At one point I had to remind CJ that pregnancy, while being a protected class, does not prohibit me from terminating someone if they can't keep up with the job. Turns out that, although I was technically correct and although it sounded good in my head, that wasn't actually the correct point to make at that time. Not only did CJ light into me for even bringing it up - as if I had actually considered firing Donna for being pregnant - she actually started strategizing about how to get the law changed and drug me into that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, now you can see why I have been a little reluctant to tell Sam. That and the fact that he turns into a total woman when it comes to things like this. I am fairly confident the first questions he will ask about our relationship will use the term "making love." Although I do love Donna, for the record, I have never made love to Donna. We have, however, had a lot of sex. To me, marriage is a legal contract. To Sam it is flowers and dresses and diamonds and love and romance. This is why I still think Donna should have told him about the wedding. They can get all girly together while I actually get some work done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as we are within earshot Donna starts talking a mile a minute trying to fill us in on the schedule for the day which includes a totally made up work meeting as well as retrieving my mother from the airport and a rehearsal and rehearsal dinner. When I abruptly cut her off before she mentions my mother she looks confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I, uh, haven't totally briefed Sam on all the issues," I say, hoping she catches on. She still looks confused but stops talking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normally she would help with my bags, but today I make a big show of getting them myself. Her doctor didn't give her any specific restrictions on physical activity, but I can be gallant sometimes and this seems as good of a time as any.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bags retrieved, we head out of the terminal into the crisp spring Wisconsin sunshine. On the way to the car Donna checks her watch and that's when I notice it, she's wearing her engagement ring. I don't think Sam has seen it yet, but he will soon. It's catching the sun, splaying a design of small prisms against her jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My instant reaction is to try to divert Sam's attention so he doesn't notice it, but then it hits me. The point of this weekend, the point of the wedding is for Donna to be married. Sam and I are here to be party to Donna's wedding. It's ok that he and everyone else see her ring. It's me that won't be wearing a ring. Me that will have to pretend not to be married. In a weird way, this is not actually my wedding at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As we get closer to the car, Donna pulls her keys from her pocket and Sam yells shotgun with childlike glee. He thinks he's seriously going to sit in the front seat until I give him a withering look. I may not place the same significance on this wedding as the other occupants of the car, but I'll be damned if I am relegated to the back seat while my fiancé chauffeurs me around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam and I load the luggage into the car and settle in for the drive to the hotel. As I sink into the passenger seat, I realize that a weight has come off me. My feet no longer feel so cold because after this is over I get to go back to my life and pretend this all didn't happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Putting the wedding into perspective in this way is reassuring to me. Donna has already been living with me and running my life for years. If this all goes to plan, maybe my life doesn't have to change that much. A wife and kid, how hard can that be?</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Famous last words from Josh? You betcha.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Wisconsin White Wedding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I can honestly say that my relationship with Josh is now the worst kept secret in Washington DC because I am fairly sure all of Madison Wisconsin and about half of Tulsa Oklahoma now know we're married. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I should have done the damn invitations myself. At least then my ex-boyfriend and his parents wouldn't have been on the invite list. Yes, you heard me right, I just introduced Josh to the entire Briggs family. They've been family friends for years, and although I'm sure my mother recalls Freddy and I having a little bit of a teenage crush on one another, I'm now certain she doesn't know it was good old Freddy who took her daughter's innocence behind the canoe shack on a shared family vacation when we were 16. Josh, however, does know, and that was a nuclear war narrowly avoided thanks only to the blessing that they don't let Josh have the launch codes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You see, my mother got around my insistence of not putting a wedding announcement in the local paper by inviting my entire extended family and nearly every person I have ever met that still lives within a 50-mile radius of my childhood home to the wedding. All expressly against my wishes. As my father explained the rationale to me, at least now they won't think the baby is a bastard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankly none of my mother's actions surprised me, but they did infuriate me. However, I was surprised that the wedding actually went pretty well. It wasn't the Ritz, but a ceremony at my parents' church is what I had always envisioned for my wedding - when I was in high school that is and actually had time to think about weddings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When enticed with an open bar and few other entertainment options, wedding receptions at the VA Hall are big events around here so, of course nearly everyone invited showed up to the reception, plus a few more. (My cousin waived off explaining the attendance of her children at an adults-only reception with an indignant, "The baby's still on the tit, I couldn't just leave him.") So, I now find myself quietly seething with a forced smile as I navigate through the throngs of my cousins and high school classmates who are simply playing lip service by asking what we do for a living and what we've been up to. When answering that question we've been vague at best. I doubt any of them know who Josh is by his name alone, and it's not like I went from table to table introducing him as the Deputy Chief of Staff to the President or as my boss. Not that I think most of them would care. This weekend in the "real" world has been a reminder that not everyone is so easily offended without political pundits to whip them into a frenzy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, I kind of knew this already. About a year ago Josh's mother had told all of her friends that we were together, in whatever capacity she had interpreted Josh and I as being together at the time since we'd never told her and really hadn't much defined it ourselves. At that point, just after I had all but moved in with Josh in the wake of Rosslyn, we had barely graduated from a series of bedroom encounters, much less a full romantic relationship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it turns out, none of her friends were at all disapproving of the fact that Josh was sleeping with his much younger “secretary.” She told me this over a glass of wine and pumpkin pie after Thanksgiving dinner while Josh was doing the dishes (yes, he can be domestic if it involves avoiding woman-talk and motherly nagging).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, among Mrs. Lyman's friends, our physical relationship was accepted as a perfectly normal thing to do. One of them even remarked that she met her husband when she started working as his secretary. The thing they seriously disliked, though, was the fact that we were pretty much living together and weren't married. So, the news that we'd set a wedding date, very quickly followed by the news that we were giving Mrs. Lyman her first, and hopefully not her only (her words, not ours), grandchild was met with significant jubilation on her part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She even invited a few of those friends to the wedding, along with Josh's aunt and a cousin I didn't even know he had. Only the friends were able to come to the wedding because of the short notice, but, oddly to me, they've been a reassuring presence. A reminder that not everyone sees our relationship as a political mistake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were also helpful with bringing around Sam, who Josh apparently had to peel off the ceiling when told the real reason for his visit to Wisconsin. For some reason that made me feel proud. Proud that we had so successfully kept our relationship under wraps and out of the office. I can't say we are the picture of professionalism, but if we fooled Sam, we at least succeeded at something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That is until now, because Sam, having taken full advantage of the open bar, has cornered me near the coat check and is interrogating me in a manner that is quickly becoming antagonistic. It's a good thing most of our other guests have equally over indulged because none of them seem to care about the way he is flapping his arms at me as they stumble out the door for fresh air or a cigarette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since I am used to histrionics like this from Josh, I have pretty much tuned out most of Sam’s rant which is now going on about 5 minutes, but it's his grand finale that finally raises my hackles enough to cut in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And seriously, how reckless and stupid could you be to not be using birth control while you were carrying on these assignations!" Sam practically spits out the last word with venom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I like Sam, I really do, and I appreciate how he is taking Josh's side here since Josh was his friend long before I even knew either of them, but I don't like what he's insinuating. I know he thinks he's speaking for the administration by castigating me for this whole situation that he firmly believes will reflect poorly on the President. But seriously, 'Hello Pot, I am the Kettle. Who are you calling black?'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's like ever since he got into trouble for carrying on his relationship with the call girl he's made it his goal to defend men who get called out on the carpet when they do stupid things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not to say I wasn't party to this particular stupid thing, as they say, it takes two to tango, but that's just it, it takes two to tango. Josh is equally liable. Maybe more so depending on who you ask. My mother still thinks he took advantage of me. I don't agree with her, but I can see how the relationship looks problematic from her perspective.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam seems to be taking the other tract so it is now time to disabuse him of his newly formed thesis about our so called "contraceptive accident" before it becomes a full-blown conspiracy theory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sam! Sam! Hold right there." I yell. Once I have his attention, I lower my voice. "Where the hell do you get off blaming me for this? This was not some plot to trap Josh or some clandestine affair and you know it. Neither of us were married, we were both consenting adults and yes, we both took sex ed. They call it an accident for a reason. Something that has happened to couples, including many here tonight, since the beginning of time. So, you can get off your soap box right now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam pauses and I see my words start to sink in. He had been poised to keep ranting, but instead I see him blow out the breath he was holding so I continue, more gently this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't take advantage of Josh he didn't take advantage of me and now, as if we needed to prove it, we are married and starting a family. Stop engaging in revisionist history for just a few hours and celebrate with us."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In typical Sam fashion he calms down but keeps rambling as he is working through all of the conflicts he has with this situation. He is talking as if he will have to advise the president on a course of action when at most this won't even come to the attention of the President and will just be a media problem, though one that will cause quite a few headaches between me, Josh and CJ. Why Sam insists on doing CJ's job I will never know, but I let him mutter for a few more minutes before carefully touching his arm to tell him I am slipping away. As I go, I hear him arguing the case with himself and the last sentence catches my attention, "although the whole issue of whether a superior can have a relationship with his assistant that is consensual in the modern understanding is a rich and complicated question." Frankly, it doesn't seem so complicated to me. Josh is an attractive man. Both his body and even more so his mind. Why wouldn't I want him in my bed if he was so inclined to be there. But what do I know?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After leaving Sam, I catch my cousin Angela coming out of the restroom as I am going for the fourth time tonight. Damn pregnancy hormones. The daughter of my father's much older brother, Angela and I weren't close in age and as a result I really looked up to her as a child. She always seemed so sophisticated and I can never remember being so envious as when she got a high school job at a local "boutique" when I was about 10.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Donna Moss, that is simply the best Wonderbra I have ever seen!" She says as she looks down at my dress, which I bought off the rack at a trunk show before I left for Madison. I love the style of my dress, but the seamstress barely had time to finish any alterations to accommodate my ever-changing figure and, as a result, the bodice is too tight to fit my pregnancy-enhanced bosom and the length turned out too short to wear heels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angela then reaches out and gropes me. That's right, my cousin is feeling me up in the bathroom at my wedding reception in a presumed effort to judge a bra that I don't happen to be wearing. Always having been a little insecure about my bra size, I think I too would be a little more enamored with my cleavage if I could breathe a little better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, it's not a bra!" She exclaims. I feel my cheeks go pink and I curse the fact that I hadn't yet had an opportunity to see if any of the stalls were occupied and by whom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Honey, did you have some work done?" My mouth falls open and I shake my head a little bit, but she doesn't seem to notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you did, I understand. It's hard to snag a guy as cute as that in the big city without some enhancements. I won't say a word, not a word." She then makes the gesture of zipping her mouth closed and locking it with her fingers, offers me another congratulations and leaves me to pee in peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I rejoin the party, I catch Josh returning from the bar with his fifth beer of the night. At the rehearsal barbecue last night my brothers gave him words of wisdom about how to fit in at a wedding in Madison, seems he is taking their advice and getting well lubricated, something we both will pay for in the morning. It's not what you think, though. For all the hell I give him about having a sensitive system, he really doesn't and, although he spent his time in school studying rather than going to keggers, he can, as Charlie says, "still hang." None of this stops me from keeping track and reminding him of the hangover he will have tomorrow from drinking draft beer from a VA Hall. I wasn't in college long, but I am experienced enough to know that the type of headache that comes from drinking draft beer out of plastic cups at an establishment of this caliber will be as inevitable as it is merciless. Who knows when they last cleaned the lines? Josh will be truly insufferable tomorrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, before I can nag Josh about his beer consumption, my grandmother catches us, more specifically me, by the arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Donnatella, I hear congratulations are in order for more than just the wedding."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try to smile, but it feels more like a cringe. Grandma has a big mouth. Half the guests will know about our unexpected addition to the family before the night is over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before I can respond Grandma turns to Josh, reaches out for his hand and continues, "Josh, it's good to meet you. I am proud of you for doing the right thing by our Donna. Welcome to the family."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then she drops her voice into something between a conspiratorial whisper and admonishment, "These days so many young men get a girl in trouble and don't even have enough honor to marry her and act as a father. Donna's grandfather always promised me he would marry me if I got pregnant, at least I had the good sense to pin him down first." She slurs the last few words, pats his arm and then mercifully shuffles off to the bar for a refill on her white wine spritzer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh turns to me with a quizzical smirk and a raised eyebrow. "Well now I know you come by it honestly Donnatella. And I think it's time for another beer," he says raising his plastic cup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can you get me some memory altering drugs while you're at the bar?" I ask absently, my gaze is still fixed on my grandmother who has barely made it past the bar to start hitting on one of my high school classmates. A married one at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I am nothing short of relived when the lights come on to signal the end of the party. I am exhausted and my veneer is wearing thin. Josh on the other hand has just finished his 8th beer and is hugging several of his newly-minted friends who have invited him to vacation at their lake house this summer. They aren't inviting him because he is a slick and powerful man, they don't even know we work with the President, they are genuinely taken by his personality. Josh is always charming. Charismatic really. And beer makes Josh downright fun. But now the fun comes to an end and, even in his inebriated state, he finds a way to turn them down but leave the possibility open. He's still a master politician even when shitfaced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When we get to the hotel, Josh no more than crosses the threshold of our room before he passes out face down on the bed and starts snoring. So much for consummating the marriage. I sit down next to him and sigh before working his shoes off his feet. He grunts in what I assume is thanks but doesn't move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The exhaustion and little indignities of the day finally get to me so I close the bathroom door, start a hot shower and begin to scrub Madison off me. Alas, the festivities are over. I am now no longer a bride, just somebody's wife.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Among the many allusions to other Fanfiction and pop culture in this chapter (hello Friends!), Sam's dialog is directly based on comments by Jeffrey Toobin regarding the Clinton Lewinsky relationship, which I also I loosely wrote into another fic I have called In Another Life.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Morning After</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you're looking for a timeline, this should be taking place in season two, somewhere right around Bad Moon Rising.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Good morning Sunshine! Sleep well?" Donna has been waking me up for years now and I can't figure out how she always sounds so goddamned chipper. Today she's really ratcheted it up a notch. I feel like she's yelling directly into my ear. This may be related to the fact that I also feel like my head has been split open and Athena is about to jump out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Here, drink this." She says handing me a glass of water but no pills to go with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aspirin, I need aspirin or, maybe cyanide, whatever will stop the jackhammer my head," I croak as I rub my face. Why is it so bright in here?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If this isn't the most appropriate first 'I told you so' moment of our marriage, I don't know what is. Donna warned me about how much I had to drink last night and now she's going to be truly insufferable today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, you will have to deal with just this for now. We can see if your mom has any ibuprofen when we see her later."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Donna!" I whine as I set the glass of water on the nightstand. "Surely you have something. You always have something."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nope, I already checked. I only have Tylenol because it's all I can take while pregnant and you can't have that because it could do bad things to your liver which is working very hard to metabolize all that beer. Can't have your liver injured," she says as she taps lightly on my stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh in disgust, fall back into the pillow and throw my arm over my eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can always get a new liver, but I cannot exist right now without painkillers. Come back later when you've procured some for me." What can I say? I can be a petulant child sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulls at my arm and hands the water glass back to me with a smile. I know the look well, it's the smile she gives me when she's pretending to be sympathetic right before she cracks the whip on me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come on hangover boy, you need to get in the shower. We are meeting your mom and Sam downstairs in the hotel lobby in 45 minutes then going to my parents' for brunch and gift opening."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine." I sigh before I down the glass of water in one go. At this point I'd probably rather cold coffee, but she knows how well that went over last time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulls me up out of bed, it's then I notice her eyes are red rimmed. She perches on the toilet seat with an apple as I step into the spray of the shower and let out a huge moan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So how much do you remember about yesterday there, tiger?" She asks around a bite of apple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, enough," I say. "Why? Were you thinking I'd forget we got married and try to get out of it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughs, but it's not a real laugh. It's that forced laugh she gives when she knows I'm trying to be funny but I'm not. Not funny that is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh no buster, I've got witnesses and your signature which is in route to the local county recorder. Even if you deny it, it's too late. At least half of what's yours is mine now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I give a cynical laugh. "Not much change there then, you already use my credit card, run my office and live at my house. I'd say 100% of what is mine was already yours."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Josh?" Her voice sounds small and unsure and I should register that and respond accordingly, but I don't. Can I blame the hangover again?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hmm?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't...you don't have regrets do you? I mean, regrets about yesterday."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh hell, I thought we'd gotten through this, but here it is again like a mouse the cat just keeps leaving on my doorstep. I can see where this is going, so I try for a joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Donna, I have many, many regrets, including some about yesterday, about eight of them specifically."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nine, actually." She corrects. Then she continues before I can. "I mean I don't think I could live with myself if I'd forced this on you by..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Danger, danger Will Robinson. Must stop this train before it derails entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Stop, I was joking. Although, I certainly regret the amount of beer I drank and the fact that I tacitly discussed premarital sex with your grandmother, I don't regret marrying you if that's the question."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn't respond. Instead I hear her chuck the apple core into the wastebasket and start the faucet to wash her hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Donna, I thought we had this settled. Why is this coming up again?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not, I just…I guess I just wanted to make sure we're on the same page. I'm going to get dressed now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She leaves the bathroom to signal the conversation is over, but I know we've settled nothing. Today is going to be a long day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donna is uncharacteristically quiet on the drive to her parents' house. However, my mother seems to be trying to make up where Donna has left off. Between her voice, the ibuprofen I took on an empty stomach and the car ride, my stomach is pitching pretty violently. My only consolation is that Sam looks equally pitiful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When we get to the Moss homestead, it appears that Sam and I are in good company with the rest of Donna's male relations who all appear to be nursing hangovers in the darkened den. We don't get much time to convalesce or commiserate, though, because Donna's mother and grandmother shoo us into the very well-lit dining room for brunch shortly after we arrive. Grandma was shitfaced last night and yet this morning she looks fresh as a daisy. I guess that really is where Donna gets it from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donna looks better, she's making conversation with her family, but things are still strained when she looks my direction. When Donna returns to the buffet for a third helping Sam looks at me sheepishly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think I may have been a little rude to Donna last night," he whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you mean by rude?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For someone so precise with the president's language Sam is often putting his foot in it with his own. He's also prone to hyperbole. A little rude may mean he didn't notice someone and failed to hold the door open for them or that he told C.J. that she didn't have the courage to do her job…to her face…when actually she was trying to formulate a strategy for dealing with his continued "dealing" with a prostitute. I was pretty rude to C.J. that day too, but people expect that from me. Sam gets this rep as a sweet, nice guy, but he has a low breaking point. I on the other hand, <em><span>am</span></em> a sweet, nice guy, I just have a reputation to uphold as a jerk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's all a little hazy, see, but I may have yelled," he admits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't think that's it, she's pretty used to yelling."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We both look in Donna's direction as if that will give us some insight into Donna's mood when Sam's words sink in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait, why were you yelling at Donna at our wedding?" I try to keep my voice down, but that kind of comes out loud. Sam reaches out to shush me with his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I might have inquired about the lack of birth control. You know they make a pill women can take now." He adds in that optimistically sarcastic way only Sam can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the hell, Sam?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know it sounds bad, but given the limited details I was provided and the amount of liquor ingested, it was starting to become a full-fledged conspiracy in my mind. I might have insinuated she was trying to trap you into marriage by becoming pregnant."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well that explains several things about this morning. Including why Donna isn't talking to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"First, it's not a conspiracy. Second, I know I didn't provide a lot of details the other night, but you could have just asked me. Instead you took it out on my wife who spent her wedding night crying in the bathroom rather than consummating our marriage?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If I wasn't so pissed at Sam right now I would be happy for this clarity. Donna is going to tell people I passed out drunk on our wedding night, but that isn't really how it happened. Yes, I was pretty drunk last night and as a result I am hung over, but I am not actually as sensitive to alcohol as she claims I am. Therefore, I was definitely not passed out and I also was definitely aware that my brand-new wife was crying in the shower last night. I was afraid she was already regretting her decision to marry me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In hindsight I realize that would have been the right thing to do," he hedges. "But Jesus Josh, all you told me was, 'Donna and I are getting married tomorrow, you are best man. Come on, we have to go to the rehearsal now. Oh, by the way, she's pregnant.' I barely had time to process the information much less formulate cogent questions."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ok, so what do you want to know?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well first, does Leo know?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, although it's possible my mother told him and he's lying in wait to castrate me later."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What about CJ? I mean she ripped me a new one for not telling her about Laurie, I can't imagine what she's going to do to you. This is going to be a disaster with the press."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, I have already rehearsed an argument that I planned to pitch to C.J. when she inevitably finds out about my involvement in this. Looks like I get to give it a trial run on Sam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"C.J. knows Donna is pregnant and that she was considering marriage, but we want her to have plausible deniability. She doesn't know the baby is mine. In fact, we plan to keep this quiet when we get back home. Everyone can know Donna is married, but I will continue to act as if I am still single at least through re-election. The goal is to minimize any impact with the press, pundits or otherwise until then and by then it's old news."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ok, but you know it's going to come out long before then and it's going to be a big deal. It's one thing to buy her flowers and joke about your anniversary, it's another thing to get her pregnant and secretly marry her."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh, "Well it's been like two years and none of you found out about it until now." I can't help it, my voice is a little mocking. When I think about all the sex we've had – Donna and I – especially recently, I can't help but think this whole situation must be some sort of karmic justice for having hid a secret relationship with my assistant for the past two years. Eventually it was going to come out, I just can't believe it's because I forgot the condom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look Sam, the family values crowd will love it if they ever even find out about it. Frankly who cares if a White House aide, or even the Deputy Chief of Staff is married. Most people don't really care about the sex lives of married politicians and their wives. So, you can stop worrying about it for now. Tonight, we'll go back home and pretend like everything is normal. Donna will show off her ring and in about 7 months she'll have a baby with her husband. If it becomes a problem then we'll deal with it. Otherwise don't make it a problem that it's not."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Easy for you to say," Sam snorts, "you're the one getting the sex. So, how did <em><span>it</span></em> happen?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I drop my head into my hands and rub my forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sam, honest to God, I would really prefer not to discuss my sex life with you, much less in the dining room of my brand-new in-laws."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I guess that's fair."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Listen, I was really counting on your support with this. You're the only person who knows outside of our family. I'd even thought about asking you to be the baby’s godfather."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch as Sam absorbs my words. He smiles slowly and pats me on the back. "Wow, I can't believe you're going to be a dad. I'm sorry I was a jerk, I just really hadn't thought this all the way through. I guess I always thought you wouldn't have kids, or that I'd have them before you. I can tell your mom is super excited. Your dad would be really proud, too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can't help but smile, too. For all of the dire predictions about this relationship, it's really good to have a friend to confide in. For the first time in a long time I'm feeling genuinely optimistic about the future.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The Announcement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Thanks for coming, I have some news and I wanted to share it with all of you together, for a couple reasons," I announce as I convene the meeting of the West Wing assistants in the corner of the Mess. Bonnie and Ginger pass out muffins and yogurt cups as everyone settles in their chairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I eloped this past weekend," I say, holding up my left hand freshly adorned with my wedding ring and engagement ring which is a family heirloom from Josh's grandmother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Predictably, their mouths fall open and silence descends on the table for a few moments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cathy narrows her eyes and I can see her doing the math on why Josh and Sam were in Wisconsin for what even she could tell was a made-up meeting. Thankfully she remains quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bonnie is the first to speak. "Married?" She coos as other members of the table begin to fall over themselves to ask to see the rings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carol asks me if I married the guy who was good in bed. I admit it, I might have bragged about Josh's bedroom prowess to Carol once or twice. There were a few times where I just had to explain the post coital glow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margaret breaks the congratulatory comments up, "We've only heard you talk about this guy you've been seeing a few times and all in the context of sex. There isn't undue pressure for to have gotten married is there?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, about that," I stumble, I can feel my cheeks and the tops of my ears getting hot. This is worse than telling my mother I was pregnant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm due October 29th."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The knowing look on Margaret's face softens. "Donna, you didn't have to get married because you were pregnant, you know it would have been ok."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stop her, "Yes, I do, but there is some concern that if I hadn't made this decision that there could be some political hay made out of it. I couldn't drag you all through it, didn't want to drag CJ and the rest of the senior staff through it and although this won't magically fix it, it will help with the family values people."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well that's great," Carol says, "but do you actually love him?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, this was unexpected, but in the long term I don't think I've made a mistake. There are a lot of sacrifices made in politics, but I don't see my marriage as one of those sacrifices," I explain smoothly just as I’d rehearsed in the mirror this morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And here I always thought you had a crush on Josh," Ginger jokes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"With those dimples who wouldn't?” I smile. “But don't let my husband hear that." Hey, his ego is too big as it is, he probably already knows his dimples make me weak in the knees, he doesn't need confirmation. Oh God, what if the baby gets his dimples?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well when can we meet him?" Margaret follows up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I would love that...but…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But?" Margaret's insistent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You understand that I am going to be keeping a pretty low profile for a while. Even though I am married there could still be a lot of hay made about the fact that I got married 3 months into the pregnancy. I need to get some time past that before I go parading around like a happy family. I don't want Mary Marsh to make me out to be the White House slut."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They nod. If there ever was a more understanding group, its these ladies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And guys, I'm not making an announcement about my pregnancy to anyone. The important people know. Everyone else can figure it out when I'm as huge as a house. Please keep this to yourselves, if you can, it's still really early." I try to add a little bit of fear to the edge of my voice because I know it's not really that early anymore. I'm well over 13 weeks along at this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're worried you could still lose the baby?" Bonnie translates for the younger members at the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We totally understand, it's safe with us and we can't wait to plan a baby shower this fall." They smile at me and all tell me that whatever I need, to just let them know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On my way back to my desk I stop by CJ's office and poke my head in. "CJ, if you get the question, I'm married, due in late October."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods and gives me a half smile that is more curious than congratulatory, but I don't allow time for any questions. Feeling a lot lighter than I have in weeks, I flop down at my desk and start sorting through the stacks of work that have accumulated on my desk from just two days out of the office. Before I know it, Josh is back from his first meeting and bellows for me from his office. I grab his schedule and the notes he's looking for and scurry into his office. Well, that was a short honeymoon.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. What to Expect (or Not)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Josh?" Dona has just poked her head into my office. It's past 7 on Thursday evening and the bullpen is mostly empty behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can't say this week has gone as well as I had hoped. Mexico collapsed. Toby is tearing around the office looking for the source of a press leak. Sam is obsessing over an oil tanker. And I am sure Donna is about to ruin my evening with more bad news. But before she can, I am going to torture her with something akin to the trivia she always spouts off to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Donna, Donna, did you read this?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In between meetings and reading briefs, I have been perusing What To Expect When You Are Expecting. Donna gave it to me to read, likely to preempt any number of questions I will have. At first I thought it was weird to be reading a woman's book, but one night I couldn't concentrate on a budget draft and picked it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wasn't too into the content at first, but it was still more interesting than the budget so I kept reading. I have to say, I have learned a lot and now I like to share that knowledge with Donna. In fact, I have all kinds of interesting passages flagged to share. Ok, mostly the parts that may benefit me. And by that I mean I flipped to the index and then flagged all the pages that mentioned sex. What? I'm still a man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well seeing as I gave you the book AFTER I had finished reading it-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, yeah nice story. Listen, 'Mother Nature definitely had mothers in mind when she thought up vaginas. Their incredible elasticity and accordion-like folds allow this amazing organ to open up for childbirth and the passage of that 7 or 8 lb baby. And then, over a period of weeks following delivery, return close to original sized.' Blah, blah, blah, ah here we go... 'Most women find that the slight increase in vaginal roominess typically experienced postpartum is imperceptible' THANK GOD 'and doesn't interfere at all with sexual enjoyment. For those who were previously too snug, that extra room can be a real plus—making sex more of a pleasure.'"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can't help it, I look up at her with a self-satisfied smile. See, I do care about her needs. I got her pregnant so she can have a baby and then enjoy sex more afterwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dude, your lady parts are going to stretch to 10 centimeters or more to accommodate the baby's head...that's insane. Did you know that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, I graduated high school," she answers. She's got her arms crossed and has her head cocked to the side leaning slightly on the doorframe. If I didn't know better, I'd say she looks tired. But then, aren’t we all?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I did too, but what does that have to do with anything?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, let's start with I actually paid attention in health class. Although, Coach Miller taught it and I believe he said the cervix dilates to 10 millimeters rather than centimeters, which definitely sounded wrong to me, but hey, metrics..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait, they teach this in health class? Why would any teenager get pregnant if they knew this?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scowls at me. "I went to school in Wisconsin, where they do teach comprehensive sex ed, but not all schools do. As for the other question—I am sure it's just because we find you men so handsome."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I detect a note of sarcasm there. I'm not getting the feeling that I'm getting the appropriate amount of credit for reading this book. Reading this is supposed to make me sensitive and sweet. No seriously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>C.J. walked into my office while I was reading it on Tuesday and told me she was impressed by my sensitivity in Donna's time of need. Then she saw me diagnosing Donna with some weird pregnancy symptom and dismissed my level of engagement as typical weird Josh and Donna relationship stuff. Which is now hilarious to me because she really has no idea just how weird our boss/assistant relationship recently got. Fortunately, Donna's hormones over the past few weeks would have thrown anyone off our scent. She pretty much publicly eviscerated me when I got her flowers last week. She also didn't like it much when I suggested that the new zit on her nose was due to the increase in estrogen in early pregnancy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ok, but listen, this section has advice on resuming sex after childbirth. "First, as you already suspect, postpartum sex can be more painful than pleasure—” Wait, this isn't good, this is mostly about how you won't be in the mood.” Unable to stop myself, I keep reading, “especially if you have delivered vaginally, but surprisingly, even if you labored and then had a c-section."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly I start imagining what that would look like. Donna on an operating table. Donna cut open. Ok, now I feel light headed. Donna is just staring at me with wide, but unaffected eyes. It's like she's not freaked out by this but she's waiting to see my reaction as I go on, which I am determined to do. I had major surgery to repair a bullet hole in a major artery and a collapsed lung last year. Next to that, childbirth should be a walk in the park. I continue reading.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"'After all, your vagina has just been stretched to its earthly limits, and possibly torn or surgically cut and sutured to boot—leaving you too sore to sit, never mind contemplate sex.'"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ok, now my vision is going a little blurry and I taste bile in my mouth. I stop reading and swallow hard, willing my mind to stop imagining what it would look like to watch a doctor sewing Donna back up—down there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey Josh, did you know that on average a woman loses between a half quart and full quart of blood during childbirth?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nope, can't stop seeing it. Gonna be sick. I throw the book down and push past her on wobbly legs to dash for the men's room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After I pull it together, I return to the bullpen, still pale and shaky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You had to add that last part about the blood loss there did you?" I whisper-yell over Donna's shoulder as I pass her desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You started it," she says smiling sweetly. "Leo and the President want you in the Oval in well, now 5 minutes," she says checking her watch. Then she adds quietly, "And now you know why, when we are finished having children, I will absolutely not feel sorry for you when I schedule you for a vasectomy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If my complexion is off when the President greets me, he doesn't mention it. Leo barely looks up at me before they drop their bombshell on me. I am surprisingly calm. In light of my own secrets, I really have no reason to yell. Instead I feel swallowed up into a void of powerlessness. I am powerless as to the physiological process putting my wife in a bad mood right now. I am powerless to control our family's story should the media get a hold of it. I am now also powerless in a new way: re-election of a President with a chronic disease. I don't know the first thing about MS, is it fatal? How quickly does it progress? What are the most scary symptoms?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All I want to do is go back to my desk and ask Donna to research MS for me, but I know I can't do that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have been so wrapped up in the best way to handle Donna's pregnancy, I had no idea this storm was brewing on the horizon and my mind is going a million miles a minute to process how everything may affect the other. Privacy now seems like the most important thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Privacy and possibly setting my sights on finding a new job, too. Even if this disease isn't fatal, this is going to be a close election.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fun Fact: I have birthed two kids and never read What To Expect When You Are Expecting, although I have the 4th edition and the quotes above were lifted from it.<br/>Not only am I a pregnancy and birth flunky, I have heard What To Expect is more scary than helpful. But, alas it's the famous pregnancy bible that "everyone" reads and would have been the most common way to prepare for pregnancy and birth at the time this story takes place so here it is in my story as it is in so many other JD baby fanfic.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The President’s Lawyer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We've jumped ahead in time. This takes place somewhere around War Crimes and obviously we're in AU-ville now and Donna never had any extracurricular relationship with Cliff because by that point she'd have been married and heavily pregnant.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When we returned home after our wedding, Josh refused to carry me over the threshold to his apartment. It was as if he thought that after that marriage certificate was filed it would immediately land on some gossip columnist's desk and there would be swarms of reporters at the door, except there weren't, but that didn't matter to Josh. In the weeks immediately after our wedding, he took my request for privacy deathly seriously. Every night for months he would see that we entered the house at least 5 minutes apart so that no one would be able to see us or get a photo of us leaving or entering his house together. Josh was always glancing over his shoulder expecting flash bulbs, but as it turned out the flash bulbs focused not on us, but on a much more senior member of our administration who had been concealing something much more serious than a marriage and a baby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh had been on edge all week but wouldn't tell me why. He had been careful to explain that his mood wasn't related to me or the baby, but he wouldn't elaborate further. So, I of course jumped to the next reasonable conclusion that it was work related. Josh has a fairly high security clearance so there's a fair amount he's not allowed to tell me, but as I am his assistant and keep his schedule, I know just enough to keep me satisfied about the nature of the things he can't tell me based on where he is and the people with whom he is meeting. But this time, there were middle of the night meetings, but they were with all the normal people. What was going on? My mind was swirling. Had Josh screwed up again and just hadn't had the guts to tell me? Was he once again worried he was going to get fired? It was kind of important that I knew these things now more than ever since my livelihood was still hitched to Josh's job and there was no was no way we could raise a baby without having a stable income source. So, when Toby called me into his office with a concerned look on his face, I thought for sure Josh's job was on the line. Instead, Toby confided in me about the President's illness, expressed how confidential the information was and tasked me with getting together a war room to in the basement for the senior staff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Toby's words sunk in, I found myself in shock. How had we all spent so much time with the President and hadn't known about his terrible disease. How and why had he kept it from us? Then I remembered my own situation. I stopped myself from protectively reaching up to touch my stomach. I didn't have a progressive disease, but I also hadn't been so honest with everyone about my own medical developments either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before we knew it, there were new reporters swarming all over the White House and even the West Wing, but as they didn't know me or my past, they had no reason to believe I wasn't married or hadn't been for some time. So, when my pregnancy started showing, no one thought to question it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, I had been pissed at Josh for not telling me about the President's MS himself but now, months later, as I sit in front of Oliver Babish and his team from the White House Counsel's office, preparing for the possible questions I will be asked during the deposition that we all know is coming, I realize that Josh hadn't been afraid of confiding in me, but rather was doing an amazing job at protecting me whether he knew it or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Let me paint the picture. Sam is sitting next to me, his hand is protectively draped over my chair, but he's not touching me. Josh's son or daughter is living happily in my stomach, kicking away like crazy, and Mr. Babish is interrogating me as if he was the special prosecutor in charge of this deposition. Something I relish. Yeah, that was sarcasm. I still get to be sarcastic after I have the baby, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: What's your name?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me (suddenly very glad I didn't take my husband's last name): Donnatella Moss</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: What's your title?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me: Senior Assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: How long have you been in this role?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me: Well, we've been in the White House for almost 3 years, but before that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver stops me, "Only answer the question, don't offer more."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me: "Ok, about 3.5 years."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: What are your job duties?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me: Research, answering phone calls, setting meetings, lots of things really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish looks at Sam, “Ok make note of that, she’s going to need a better answer to that one.” Then back to me, “Do you keep an official schedule?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me: For my supervisor Josh Lyman, yes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: Any sort of calendars or schedules?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me: Yes, sir, they're all in his official files.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I almost laugh nervously to myself and hope I truly did erase all my secret code before filing them. Pretty soon everyone is going to see evidence of my missed periods and what Josh had *thought* was a detailed record of when he did or didn't get lucky, but was actually me preparing for him to do a nutty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: Did you keep a diary?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me: Uh, many years ago, but it was personal, not work related.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: Did you write in it when you were working at the White House or working with President Bartlet in any capacity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me: I can't recall the timeline on when I stopped writing in it, but yes, I would suppose so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: We'll need to see a copy of that for evidence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I blanch, there is no way they can see that diary. The stuff in there is way too personal. It's one of the things that lead to Josh's baby gestating in me right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That would be a problem," I say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why is that?" Babish asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The diary was lost."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a little lie, it wasn't lost like can't be found, it was lost to a match in Josh's fireplace one night after I realized I was pregnant and was afraid I was going to ruin his career.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver raises his eyebrows. "Lost?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes sir, lost, like I said, I haven't kept a diary in years."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. "We're going to have to work on your answer on that one too", he says making a note to himself and then he continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: Did you know the President was sick?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me: Is he sick now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: Sick with MS.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me: Well I know that now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: Who told you he had MS.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me: Toby Ziegler.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: Not your boss, Josh Lyman?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I realize what Oliver's thinking and I'm silently thanking God Josh was too broody to tell me, he was worried he'd upset me and the baby. I can even tell Sam is surprised by this and is even more thankful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No sir, Toby Ziegler told me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver nods. "And when did he tell you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We go around for another half hour before Oliver explains that he needs to go over some more sensitive questions in case they come up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ms. Moss, I understand you're pregnant, or at the time of the deposition they may say that you've recently had a child."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And I'll say, yes that's true, a child who I should be at home being nursed by its mother rather than being so cruelly put in the hands of a stranger at such a tender age so I can answer questions about which I had no part in any wrong doing!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver sighs, "Normally I'd tell you to only answer the question asked, but in this case, since this is a Republican witch hunt, if you want to say all that then go for it. Hell, if you want to nurse your baby during the deposition I'd be ok with that, too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, "I'd thought about that, but I want to keep my family out of the spotlight as much as possible and I don't think nursing openly during a deposition is the way to do that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: "Ms. Moss are what is your marital status?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me: "I'm married."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: "And your husband's name?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me: "Has nothing to do with this deposition."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: "And who is the father of your baby?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me: "My husband, you asshole."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think I see Sam smile out of the corner of my eye and Oliver certainly looks impressed. The truth is that I'd been saving this line and had just been waiting to try it out on someone. Josh's concern about people casting aspersions about the paternity of my child, as it turns out, has been significantly overblown until this point. Most people I have interacted with seem to barely notice I am pregnant, much less take the time to ask invasive questions. In fact, it took nearly 7 months of weekly radio addresses before the President even noticed that my stomach was rounding out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish continues, "And when were you married?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me: "I'm truly not sure why it matters, but we were married this year in April."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Babish: "So, you were already pregnant when you were married?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam cuts in, "Oliver, don't you think if they go down that line of questioning I can advise her not to answer as it's not relevant to the investigation?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver sighs and nods, "Yes and you should, but you need to be aware that they could ask these questions. We don't want her so off balance and pissed off that she shoots her mouth off like the rest of them have tried to do."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He then reviews his notes. "Listen, I think that does it for me unless you've got any other skeletons you haven't told me about." Oliver says, looking at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My mouth goes dry. As my lawyer, and the best man at my wedding, Sam is already well aware of my skeletons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oliver, Josh Lyman has some concerns that the members of the committee taking the deposition might try to insinuate that he fathered the child in some sort of illicit affair with his assistant and may ask her questions directly related to the nature of her relationship regarding him, or more directly, simply if he's the father of her baby," Sam says. "What is your advice for how to handle that? Donna's a private person, not a public person and it's her express wish that there is no open scrutiny about her family or the parentage of her child."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver nods, and I see a sparkle in his eye that registers that he understands there's more to the question than what Sam just asked. He pauses and looks at me. "Your marriage license? I haven't seen it. It's real, it was registered, yes?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod yes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Was it filed here? Here in DC."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shake my head. "I didn't get married in Washington DC, I'm not from Washington DC and my family isn't here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver stops me, "I don't want to know where it's filed, and I don't think I want to see it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My heart is literally about to thump right out of my chest and I'm pretty sure my blood pressure is way higher than recommended for a pregnant woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver looks back at Sam now, "They probably won't ask. This really isn't the material they're looking for, and if they do, they can be vilified for trying to attack her family. But she should answer the question how she just did. The child's father is my husband. She should probably leave off the "you asshole" part, though it would amuse me greatly if she didn't. Do your best to get them to avoid that line of questioning, but have her answer the question as evasively yet as honestly as possible. It'd be a scandal, but it's not worth putting her at risk of perjuring herself either."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that he stands up and that signals that our meeting is over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it turns out my deposition was over-planned. The White House Counsel had prepared me for questions that didn't get asked, not even close. Maybe no one had the cojones to ask a heavily pregnant assistant what her marital status was or who had fathered her baby. Or maybe asking that during a closed-door deposition just lacked the flair they were looking for. In fact, aside from stumbling on the diary question (again), my deposition was fairly bland. A huge part of me was relived, the rest of me was insulted they didn't think enough of me to ask. I really wanted to tell some of them they were assholes, but actually they were pretty respectful and nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh, as it often is, was another story. Remember how I said a circus surrounds him? It's seriously true – and they're mostly the public officials you elected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is exactly 27 minutes into Josh's deposition when one of his most recent arch enemies, a very conservative and very Christian junior congressman from Utah, brings up the question everyone was afraid they'd ask me: Have you ever had a romantic relationship with any member of the White House staff?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I'm sitting in Josh's office watching the deposition on C-Span. The depositions for assistants like me were done over a month ago in behind closed doors sessions. Although the deposition text will be made public with the rest of the report, no one from the public got to sit in. The depositions for the senior staff are being done at the Capitol building in a public session and are televised, though not on any of the major networks. News crews are there recording, looking for bombshells, ready to play the best sound bites. So, when the question comes, I cringe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Sam pounces before Josh can answer. "Excuse me Congressman, but Mr. Lyman's relationship with Ms. Madeline Hampton was well known to the administration and pretty much everyone in Washington DC before she was hired to work as a consultant for the Bartlet administration. So, you already know the answer to that question and in no way is it relevant to the health of President Bartlet. And, if your goal is to ascertain what Ms. Hampton might have known about the President's Health, well you will have to subpoena her. Can we please move on to something of substance?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam has just broken the Cardinal Rule, offering up more information that was necessary to answer a question, but in this case, Oliver has his suspicions about Josh's relationship with me and doesn't stop Sam. Instead he sits back and watches how it plays out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's quite the show. Apparently, the junior congressman didn't know about the "well-known" relationship with Ms. Hampton and he latches on like a shark that smells blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh, for his part, looks suitably bewildered, and having been prepared for the question but having not been so prepared for this line of questioning regarding Mandy specifically, he gets characteristically antagonistic which perpetuates the senator's new found belief that something improper happened. Josh is definitely earning his badge as a hostile witness on this one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Utah asshole: What was the nature of your relationship with Ms. Madeline Hampton?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh: We dated…?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Utah asshole: How long did you date Madeline Hampton? And over what time period?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh: Uh, (scratching his head) about a year…before and during the Bartlet campaign.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Utah asshole: You don't remember?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh: I wasn't…look, I don't see how this is relevant to the case. We weren't dating when I began working for the White House.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Utah asshole: The nature of your dating relationship, was it sexual in nature?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh: Aren't most?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Utah asshole: So, you had sexual intercourse with Ms. Hampton?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh: Look, buddy, in this town you don't do yourself any favors by kissing and telling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Utah asshole: Answer the question please Mr. Lyman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam now leans over and whispers something to Josh who nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh: Yes, (he sneers now, bearing his teeth) during the course of the romantic relationship I had with Ms. Hampton, we did engage in acts of a sexual nature. Do you need me to outline them in detail for you? I remind you there will be children watching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you watching this train wreck?" C.J. screeches as she comes smashing into Josh's office. I can't pull my eyes away from the screen, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I almost feel bad for Mandy. If she hadn't gotten a subpoena by now, she certainly will be soon," I say quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To tell the truth, I never disliked Mandy really. When I first started working with Josh they were dating, which might have bothered me, but didn't. I certainly was attracted to Josh, but I just dismissed it as a crush. Maybe a little bit of a hero complex. By the time Mandy came back around, Josh seemed to have zero interest in dating her and soon after that Josh and I were sleeping together and it was made very clear to me that Mandy was out of Josh's love life for good – and that it was a mutual decision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Utah asshole: No, that's not necessary. Were any of these sexual acts committed on White House or government property.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh: No.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Utah asshole: Ms. Hampton, she worked for you?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh: She was a consultant for the campaign and for the administration. As a consultant, she, and most members of the West Wing would have reported up through me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Utah asshole: Mr. Lyman are you telling me you pursued a sexual relationship with your subordinate?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh: (long pause) Ms. Hampton was a consultant to the campaign and to the White House. She was not a White House employee. And, as I said before, we weren't dating when she worked for the White House.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Utah asshole: But you still had authority over your former girlfriend in her role working as a consultant for the White House? (The self-righteousness is palpable.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh: I think Mandy would take umbrage at that characterization. She consulted for the President just like the rest of us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Utah asshole: So, you're telling me this wasn't a conflict of interest?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh: I could go around with you all day on this, but I fail to see how it relates to the matter at hand which is the President and his health. Glad to hear he's in your prayers, though, Congressman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that, the congressman's five minutes are up and it's back to the minority (our side) to ask questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally able to pull away, I look at C.J., but before I can ask her thoughts on Josh's performance, the phone rings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"C.J., it's Margaret, Leo wants you in his office now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a grimace C.J. is gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh's portion of the hearing goes on for another hour, but no one else is eager to renew any questions on his romantic life. Little did I know Josh was just the warm up. They'd have another sacrificial lamb for the slaughter and Josh would be trying everything possible to get the guy out of the room.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. The Birth Plan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Takes place during Gone Quiet.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Excuse me." C.J. looks in my door past Donna who is still giving me her trademark pout. I'm pretty used to ignoring it on Donna, but if our kid gets that pout, I'm done for. "You got a second?" C.J. asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before answering C.J., I look at Donna, "Type that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donna stammers, "Look, I was just…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I cut her off as I get up to talk with C.J., "Type it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grimaces. She's been acting weird all week, but now I think she's really pissed at me because I'm making her apologize for calling the Park Police. She doesn't understand that I had had the situation handled, it wasn't out of hand and that the complaints she handled were just crotchety old people who like to complain about everything. Especially me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"May I use your computer?" Donna asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh? "What's wrong with yours?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"One of them poured Wheatena on the keyboard." Now I know she's just screwing with me, but she's certainly taken it up a notch. She's been unreasonably obsessed with trying to hide in my office as much as possible lately. For the life of me I can't figure out why, but I don't really care as long as she's still getting work done. We do have a country to run here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Go ahead."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We lock eyes and move to trade places on either side of my desk. As we do, we awkwardly do a little dance as we each move to the same side together, but then realizing we're in the office, stop short before we touch. We do this several times as C.J. watches bemusedly from the door. We've been doing things like this a lot lately. I hope people don't start to notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For some reason I feel the need to explain myself to C.J. as we exit my office. "We had a little problem earlier," I say offhandedly. As it turned out it was probably unnecessary, C.J. is positively gleeful when I start to walk with her. Fortunately, she holds her singing in check and dispatches me to think up a sound bite. Why she doesn't pick Toby or Sam, I'll never know, but I spend most of the rest of the day obsessing over it anyway. Why would someone want to be president?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's past 1:30 a.m. before I can pull off my clothes and get into bed. Donna doesn't move but immediately I can tell she's awake. I roll over and spoon her to my chest. Dropping my face into her hair so I can smell her shampoo, something I find instantly calming, I ask her why she's still awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's wrong?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's been months. They should have found the marriage certificate by now. They should have followed us home by now. We should have been gossip fodder by now." Her voice is clear, but I can tell it's framed with worry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, slow down, your plan was to stop us becoming gossip fodder, remember?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, but we always knew it was only temporary. I just thought the marriage would buy us some legitimacy. We always figured someone would start hunting around and out us. I expected that there'd be a media frenzy and it would die down by the time the baby came, but that hasn't happened."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, that's good, a little more peace, right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Josh, no, it's bad. If it's not widely known that we're married and I have this baby in DC, the moment I put your name on the birth certificate it's going to be picked up by the AP wires. Hell, the moment I go into labor at the White House and you're rushing me to the hospital there will be reporters outside the hospital doors."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, you want me to have C.J. leak our marriage to the media?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No!" She shrieks. "I am just coming to the conclusion that I can't have this baby at a hospital in Washington DC."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you mean? Where would you have the baby?" I demand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"At home."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Home!? Donna, I'm good at many, many things, but delivering a baby is not something I intend to put on my resume."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not our house, you idiot. Home like Wisconsin."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No." I say firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Josh, hear me out. It would give me a lot more privacy. I don't think this baby is coming early, I could start my maternity leave a few days before my due date and have my mom help me drive home to await the birth. I already have a doctor there that I know, I used her years ago when I was in college. I could have my records transferred there and register to give birth there, too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Donna, I'm not missing the birth of our child over privacy concerns."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, don't you worry about that. Women in my family have notoriously long labors. By the time I go into labor, I can have you a plane ticket to Madison, you'll make it to the hospital in time for me to have the epidural and then sleep for another 12 hours before I'm dilated enough to push. At that point you'll be glad my mother and sister tagged in at the beginning."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh, "Ok, I am not agreeing to this, but I see the merit in this plan. But how do you explain me leaving suddenly to go be by your side while you give birth?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Remember what I said before? You're going to have to fake pulling a nutty. Let everyone assume it's because I'm not there. I'm not talking about a psychotic break, just enough that Leo and the other assistants won't want to deal with you and agree to send you home for a few days. Then you'll call Leo and explain that you were crazy because you were coming down with an illness and you'll be out longer than expected."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Leo won't buy that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You're right, he won't, but he'll let you do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think he suspects something's up, but C.J. and Sam have him convinced it's just because you're having a baby."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The assistants want to know how I'm going to continue working for you after I have the baby. Bonnie suggested that we'll have to get a playpen for your office."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's actually not a terrible idea."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ha, the baby won't be able to sleep with you ranting. Plus, I don't want it to learn how to bellow for me like you do."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Speaking of sleep, you need to go to sleep now or you won't be of any use tomorrow in the office. We'll figure it out, I promise," I say as I smooth her hair and allow myself to drift off to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, before I even leave the house, I come to learn I've done nothing to dissuade Donna from her newest birth plan. She's apparently gotten up well before me and redlined every single newspaper article about senior public officials from the Times, the Post and Newsweek. Specifically, the parts about their private lives. My name's underlined in red a few times. I realize now that this is probably why she's been acting so strangely all week - she's been obsessing over the baby's impending birth. Why, I don't know. I mean don't they just go to the hospital, get drugs, pop out a baby and go home? She reminds me of the cat I had as a kid, and how it sought out a secluded closet in our basement to have its kittens. Women are weird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she does most days, Donna's in the office before me, getting my schedule and my messages in order before I roll in for senior staff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I get to my desk, I find she's left several additional papers, this time marked in purple, but with my name underlined in red. The regional papers seem to have a lot to say about me this morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn't bring up her "gifts" for me when she comes in to brief me on my schedule, instead she coolly informs me that she'll be taking an early break today to be calling local hospitals about their privacy policies. All I can do is raise an eyebrow at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Josh, seriously, I need you to give this some thought," she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, you're not giving birth in some Podunk hospital and that's final."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Josh!" She screeches. "Madison Wisconsin is a progressive city with a wonderful hospital system. Many of the hospitals there are better than the inner-city options I have here!" She says quickly. "Specifically with relation to c-section rates and maternal morbidity."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stops me with that. "Morbidity?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, Josh, the U.S. actually has one of the highest rates of maternal morbidity in the western world."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And it's better in Wisconsin than it is here?" I ask, confusion evident in my voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, it depends on the hospital, but by and large, yeah," she says with a shrug as I get my things together and move past her out my office door to rush to the daily senior staff meeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Facts and figures, Donnatella. I want hard statistics," I call over my shoulder on my way out. Now in the corridor, I turn to watch her as I walk to Leo's office. She smiles at me. Her full smile. She knows she's got me.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. A Terrible Mother</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, the next few chapters are a little strong. Clearly I wrote these when I was in a bad place and I questioned for a long time if they should be in this story. I wanted this story to be a slightly funnier kind of look at a secret situation that so many other great fanfic writers have tackled, but the next three chapters aren't really funny at all. Ultimately I decided I should post them because they're not all sunshine and rainbows and frankly having kids isn't always sunshine and rainbows. So, if you're here for the funny, hang with me for a few chapters, everything does end up ok in the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thankfully, aside from the quickie wedding and the initial morning sickness, my pregnancy was the picture of typical. So much so, that my doctor in DC authorized me to continue flying with Josh and the President on Air Force One well into my 8th month of pregnancy. Of course, being on an airplane with a full team of doctors and a surgical suite probably helped that decision.</p><p>Perversely, I think Josh actually wanted me to give birth on Air Force One. Not only would it have derailed my plan to go home to Wisconsin for the birth, but there would have been no question about why he was there to witness it. For my part, aside from the fact that I did want him to know just how painful it is to bring his child into the world, I was not so concerned he was there for the actual screaming birth part - he's not great with blood or screaming, or really any of that and as it turns out, there's a lot of both of those in childbirth.</p><p>Fortunately, or unfortunately, Josh didn't get his way. As I would expect for any child of mine, our daughter came exactly on her due date, barely 36 hours after my mother and I had arrived at my childhood home in Madison and about 5 hours after Josh had touched down in Madison. I had indeed booked his plane ticket while breathing through early contractions.</p><p>Despite my earlier comments to Josh about getting an epidural, by the time I actually went into labor, for some reason I had my mind made up that I was going to have a natural childbirth with no pain medication. Maybe it was because I had read the really rare, but really terrible side effects of an epidural and was terrified of a staph infection. Quite possibly it was because I felt like I was young and had only gotten married because I was pregnant and therefore had something to prove about my maternal fitness. Perhaps my guilt over not really wanting to be pregnant in the first place also played a factor. The pain of birth might have sounded like an appropriate penance to assuage my conscience over not wanting the baby (at least initially). Most definitely I was influenced because I had read that unmedicated labors tend to progress faster and given the history of long labors in my family, I wanted every possible shot at coming in under 30 hours.</p><p>Regardless, I know now that it was stupid. Fuck having to prove something. Fuck guilt. You are giving them life, they don't get to judge if you had enough pain. And the idea that forgoing pain medication makes labor shorter? Who cares if it's a few more pain free hours when your child's head circumference could be in the 95th percentile? When it could take a catheter and countless stitches both up AND down to piece your lady bits back together? Let me tell you ladies, hedge your bets and get the epidural. By the time you know your child is literally tearing you from the inside out, it's too late for the good drugs. But alas, I did not know that then, so by the time Josh got to the hospital in Madison, he found me, adrift in the sea of pain the doctors call "transition" with absolutely no pain relief.</p><p>Barely aware that he'd entered the room, I felt as though I was floating in an ocean of semi-consciousness. Each contraction and resting period became the ebb and flow of the tenuous grip I had on reality. Later he would tell me he was totally freaked out by how quiet I was and the spaced out look in my eyes. This feeling of his would quickly turn to fear as I began pushing the baby with the largest head in the history of the world out of my vagina. There was a lot of screaming then. Mostly just from me.</p><p>Fortunately, even through my pain, I had the good sense to not allow him to look at the disaster that our new daughter was making out of what used to be his playground. I was constantly reminding him to stay by my head and out of the doctor's way.</p><p>Maybe I won't remember this later, like they say, everything is a haze immediately post-partum. The lack of sleep, the pain. It's been 3 days since we were released from the hospital and I still feel like I've been run over by a truck. All the baby wants to do is eat. I cry every time she wants to nurse, yet I find myself happy to endure the feeling of razor blades on my nipples because it's the only thing that stops her crying. And mostly, I feel like I'm a hormonal, leaking, disgusting mess who hasn't bonded with her baby.</p><p>So, to summarize, I already feel like an awful mother who has made a terrible mistake and I have never been happier to hide in my childhood room and allow my mom to bring me soup and tea and offer to hold the baby while I shower. Josh, however, is not equally enthused about being holed up in Madison. He's been restless since he got here and his mood seems to have gotten worse every day. He's been almost as bad as when he had his breakdown last Christmas and I'm trying hard not to blame myself for not being able to take care of him like I usually do. The truth is, with my recovery and the needs of the baby, I just simply can't. So, this morning when I woke up to find his bags completely packed and at the door, I wasn't entirely surprised. What I was surprised about was that he wanted me to come.</p><p>"Get up and pack please. I've got us plane tickets for this afternoon." He says simply to me after I finish trying to eat breakfast one handed in bed, while nursing the baby. His voice is oddly devoid of much emotion. Maybe it's slightly annoyed.</p><p>"You can't be serious," I respond, while looking down at the baby who is rapidly drifting off to sleep but still attached to me. I'm barely capable of walking downstairs much less across an airport.</p><p>"Of course I'm serious." He says with a rapidly escalating tone. "It was not my choice to come here, but I did, and now I'm ready to go home."</p><p>"You act like I forced you to do this! This was not all my choice Joshua!" I respond with an edge of hysteria in my voice. I'm trying very hard to keep from crying and not succeeding very well. Damn hormones.</p><p>"How can you say that? Until now everything we've done has been on your terms. I've let you call the shots since the word 'Go.'"</p><p>"I didn't want a baby right now, I didn't want to be married. This, all of this," I say waving my hand around the room, "it's a mistake." The sob I was choking back escapes with that last word and suddenly tears are rolling down my face. I don't think I'm articulating myself very well right now, but the pain, sheer exhaustion and hormones are clouding my vision and my speech. I already was feeling like a bad mother and now I've just put words to it. "Josh, we can't leave, I can't do this."</p><p>"Stop being ridiculous. Of course you can. Besides, I have a job, a job I have to be in Washington DC for, a fairly important job and I'm not going home to go back to my job without my wife and newborn child." His voice gets louder with every word.</p><p>"I am home." I declare petulantly.</p><p>"When you married me this ceased being home." He sneers. "So, if you'll permit me my to exercise my rights as your husband just for <span class="u">once</span> and tell you that I've bought us plane tickets and we're going home, I'm going to do just that."</p><p>That was it, he just said the magic words. I get up carefully, lay the baby down on my bed and gingerly start packing. The baby wakes up almost immediately and starts screaming. Just moving hurts, I feel like my insides are about to drop through my vagina. I'm trying hard not to pop any stitches and the baby's crying starts to make my engorged breasts leak. But here I am, doing what he's asked because before we got married, I insisted we talk about a variety of things that marriage counselors suggest you discuss before your marriage. Things like desire for children (we were a little late on that one) and the number of children, who takes care of the money, who does the house work, how often you'd like to be amorous. One of the things we discussed was who gets to be the final decision maker and how we express when it's a final decision. I was raised in a traditional household. Most of the child rearing and basic household decisions were made by my mother, but ultimately, she was obedient to my father who really only felt the need to put his foot down about something every once in a while, and when he did, it was the final decision. Josh was raised pretty much the same, so both of us expected that it'd feel all right with him being the final decision maker on matters of great importance in our household. The problem is, right now I'm seriously questioning his decision-making, but I can't say no or he might leave us and even though I am seriously questioning if I can do this at all, I am positive that I cannot do this without him.</p><p>So, instead of fighting with him further, I pack my bags, take a double dose of Percocet, hug my parents goodbye and allow him to take me and my tiny, tiny baby to the airport during cold and flu season to go back to Washington DC where we have virtually no other family support.</p><p>It's official, I am a terrible mother.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Father of the Year</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Yes, really, I am still posting on this story. The truth is I never really liked how I'd originally written this chapter so I tore it up and reset it. Hope this reads better if you've already read this.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You said you had a “thing,” I’m assuming you meant a panic attack? Tell me about it. What had just happened when you realized you were having it?” My therapist looks at me in the way they all do. Down through the glasses on his nose. He’s also holding a pen in his hand perched over a notebook. It feels like a movie and we’re two characters instead of real people.</p>
<p>I admit it, I’ve been eschewing regular therapy lately. I didn’t think I needed it anymore and plus, there were things bothering me that I couldn’t discuss with him. Not me and Donna, I’m not worried about that. He knows I’m married, that happened when I was still seeing him, but the President.</p>
<p>Honestly, things had been going pretty well. But as much as I hate this, I do need to talk because something happened that I’m really going to have to get past.</p>
<p>“It had just hit me. The reality that I was bringing a baby home with me had just hit me. I was standing, or rather, pacing near our gate in the airport and for the first time I think the enormity that I have a child, a real life living and breathing human being that has half of my genetic material and whose survival depends on me feeding and clothing and caring for it for the next 18 years at a minimum, had just hit me. I could feel my already high blood pressure creeping up even more, the nausea was starting along with a cold sweat and I couldn’t stand against a wall because they were about to call our plan for boarding soon.”</p>
<p>“That’s good, you were listening to your body and looking for physical ways to ground yourself. Tell me what do you do when you can’t do that?”</p>
<p>“Normally, I'd talk my feelings out with Donna, but she isn't talking to me right now.”</p>
<p>“Why isn’t she speaking to you?” He asks gently.</p>
<p>“According to her, I handled the baby's car seat too roughly while trying to manage the line to get our boarding passes and check our bags. I really couldn't help it. We were running late and of course the line was unreasonably long and I had to carry all the bags myself and Donna wouldn't walk faster with the damn seat. So, I helped her, apparently a little too forcefully, and scared the baby. The baby was already crying, so I don't see what the issue was. Aren't those things designed to deflect the impact of a car crash?”</p>
<p>“Maybe so, but I would guess most new parents wouldn’t like to imagine their fragile newborn being in a car accident. Was there anything else that had happened that would have made her upset with you?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, Donna's probably pissed at me for wanting to go home so soon, too. She insisted on wearing a huge oversized hat at the airport. I am sure she was imagining wolves at the gate when we landed in DC or someone making a comment to her about how she looked, you know what the rumor mill is like here. And, this morning when we were still at her parent’s house she wept over it being cold season or something.”</p>
<p>All he does is nod. I’d be infuriating, but it feels good to talk about it actually, so I continue.</p>
<p>“I'd accuse her of being crazy, except that I actually think I have been going crazy over the past few days. It got to the point this morning that I couldn't stand sitting around her parents' house eating strange midwestern casserole dishes (what the hell is a tater tot anyway?) for another day. I had to get back home. Home where I can do something. Home where I can make an impact. Home where I can get back to work.”</p>
<p>I know this makes me sound like a workaholic, but work also means an opportunity to get away from the baby who always seems to be crying. I think my blood pressure is off the charts lately because of all the crying.</p>
<p>“Ok, so circle back to the moment when you said reality hit you. What do you think made you come to the realization?”</p>
<p>“Well, the baby was crying. She was hungry, which is pretty much an all the time thing. Donna is already an amazing mom and she knows the baby's hungry just by the sound of our daughter's cries, but she's still trying to get the hang of the nursing thing and she's not really comfortable doing it in public. So, she was just sitting there staring at the baby and then looking toward the bathroom and, I didn’t really know it then, I swear, but I think she’s in a lot of pain right now when she walks. I kinda didn’t realize it at that point and I probably should have been more sympathetic to her. So, I think she was trying to judge how long she had timewise before we started boarding and just how far the bathroom was and all that. I guess it was just that feeling that I should have been doing something but I was almost entirely powerless.”</p>
<p>“Ok, describe to me how you handled it.”</p>
<p>“Um, I didn’t really. I just stood there clenching my fists. Maybe I should have done something, helped her, but I actually couldn’t do anything because I was trying to hold back my anger. I actually felt like it was feeding on the baby's cries.”</p>
<p>“And Donna resolved the issue?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, God, I felt like an asshole. She was looking from me to the baby and back again. I think she was trying to figure out which one of us was in more immediate need of her attention, which is ridiculous because I shouldn’t need more attention than a baby. Finally, she just decided to try to feed the baby right there in the middle of the terminal.”</p>
<p>“You sound like you were upset with her breastfeeding the baby in public. Does that make you feel uncomfortable for her to nurse in public?”</p>
<p>“Well, no, but yes, I guess. It took her a few tries to get the baby latched on and she was like totally exposed. She put a blanket over her shoulder for privacy, but only after the baby was eating, which probably was entirely superfluous at that point. I think she'd just flashed the entire airport – there’d been a lot of people staring when the baby was crying. Actually, I think I was just upset because the baby was crying and I couldn’t make her stop. I think I didn’t really care that much about Donna’s decision to nurse her there because we were still in Wisconsin. In DC where we're likely to be recognized I probably would have cared more.”</p>
<p>“Ok, that’s good. There are a lot of partners who feel a sense of loss when breasts become about feeding babies rather than sexual objects.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I don’t think that was my issue. I was upset before that.”</p>
<p>“That’s good. Tell me what happened after that.”</p>
<p>“The flight back to DC was fairly uneventful, but by the time we made it out of the airport and back to our apartment, Donna was shaking more than I was. I guess it was the exertion of walking up several flights of stairs or maybe because I lost it on her in the airport. Anyway, she pretty much collapsed on the bed with the baby in her arms. Once I calmed down, I decided I was probably more harm than help and I called you.”</p>
<p>He nods again. “I’m glad you did. We have some work to do here. Plus, I think there are some things have been building up since you last saw me.”</p>
<p>My emergency therapy session takes the better part of 3 hours. As it turns out, my therapist has concluded that my stress addled brain is hearing my newborn daughter's cries as sirens. It's hard for me to admit that therapy is worth the time or money when my therapist simply confirms what I already knew, but everyone tells me it's good for me to go and I guess I do feel a little lighter because I’ve talked about it with a third party. The guilt I have to deal with about this whole situation is immense, but first there's the actual disassociation part. She's a baby, there will be lots of crying in my future and I will have to stop hearing sirens when it happens. I already am the father of the year for having a mental breakdown 4 days after her birth and dragging her across the country out of the safe enclave of her grandparents' home in the midst of my mania.</p>
<p>Before I return home, I swing by the West Wing to check my messages but also mostly to talk to Leo. Margaret waves me in and Leo looks mildly surprised to see me.</p>
<p>I am exhausted and I must look like hell, but Leo is a loose end I have to tie up. When Donna joked about me getting sick or pulling a nutty to get some time off with the baby she couldn't possibly have known how close to home she'd be hitting. I just have to hope she still wants me there after my performance over the past few days.</p>
<p>"I just got done with a 3-hour therapy session," I say to Leo by way of greeting. "I left the other day because I felt it coming on. I guess it's the stress of the investigation, of being deposed and knowing what they're going to do to us. This time I didn't smash any windows, but I did say some pretty hurtful things to some people who are close to me. Donna included. She had the baby by the way."</p>
<p>Leo nods, "CJ told me a few days ago."</p>
<p>"Anyway, I have come to apologize, and to ask for your understanding if I need to take some time away from here. I already packed up what I need to get the essentials done for the next few days."</p>
<p>Leo nods and waves his hands down with that I am dismissed.</p>
<p>On my way back to grab my bag, Sam catches me and his excitement is damn near cloying. I drag him into my office before his girly squeals attract too much attention.</p>
<p>"I didn't expect you back so soon. How is the baby? How is Donna? Is fatherhood just amazing?" He breathes excitedly. Then he actually looks at me. "You look like hell. What happened?"</p>
<p>"I am an asshole and I think I just fucked up my marriage and my child," I say plainly.</p>
<p>"What? Do we need to discuss this, I mean, I still have a lot left to do, but I can slip out for a beer."</p>
<p>You don't have to tell me how bad of an idea that is. I may be an idiot about babies, but I have figured out how to keep Donna from killing me and it's often by saying no to Sam.</p>
<p>When I get home, Donna is asleep. It doesn't look like she's moved much and I can see dried tear tracks on her cheeks. I lean over the bassinet where our daughter is sleeping. Looking at her I can't help the overwhelming feeling of being terrified. In one of the baby books I read while Donna was pregnant, it said that babies reach their fussiest point at 6 weeks old and that the crying starts to decrease by 8 weeks. I back away from the baby quietly, loathe to wake her up.</p>
<p>I crack open a beer in my kitchen trying to settle my brain enough to make a plan. I think I'm going to have to make myself scarce for the next two months if I don't want to fuck this up any more than I already have.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. In the Shadow of You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was going to be one of those days. I knew it the moment I woke up. And I strongly suspected it was going to be a bad day for the history books by the time I dropped the baby off for her first ever day of daycare – by myself, of course – while crying like a lunatic.</p><p>The cherry on top came later, when I knocked over an entire bottle of pumped breast milk, about half of which spilled all over my blouse and pants. Nothing beats rolling into the office on your first day back from maternity leave smelling like stale breast milk and looking like a puffy blotchy mess. A puffy blotchy mess who is also now worried there may not be enough milk to send with the baby to daycare tomorrow – something I'd be more upset about if I didn't think the excuse to slip out and go nurse the baby at lunch might not be so bad. At least it will get me more time with the baby doing probably the only thing in my life that I'm actually good at right now – nursing. Along with her lungs, dimples and temperament, my daughter seems to have inherited her father's love of breasts. If she isn't attached to me, she's screaming, which makes life pretty difficult. Do you know how hard it is to put on deodorant with only one hand?</p><p>Case in point, this morning I took a five-minute shower and listened to her scream the entire time. It was enough to make me cry, but also, just thinking about her screaming her head off all day at daycare not having her needs met by me, her mother, is enough to make me cry all over again. Motherhood is strange.</p><p>One thing is clear to me, though, we need better paid-leave policies in this country.</p><p>Since I took off a few days before I had the baby, she's just shy of 6 weeks old. She still has reflux, still cries for the better portion of the day and she's not even close to sleeping through the night (more on that later). Six weeks just hasn't been enough for us to get into a groove yet and I realize how lucky I was just to get that. As for me, I haven't even gotten the ok from my doctor to return to work yet. Yeah, if you're wondering, I still have stitches.</p><p>Legally, I could have taken longer without pay, but my sick leave time only allotted 6 weeks with partial pay and even with that pay, between the day care deposit and doctor's bills, I only have about $3.88 in my checking account. Taking more time off unpaid was just not an option. Although I have no issues using Josh's credit card for food and furniture deliveries to his house, he seems to think it would look pretty funny to have his assistant's daughter's daycare tuition coming out of his checking account. The same goes with my doctor bills and any money transfers between us. He thinks it would look like hush money. The joke is on him, this morning I listed his name in the "father" section of her day care paperwork. At this point, I am simply too tired to keep up the charade.</p><p>As for her father, my doting husband, I am pretty sure he has been avoiding us. He gave it a good try for the first week we were back in DC, but since then I am not even sure if Josh has been coming home or if he has been just sleeping at the office. We are both used to economy of personal needs, but this past week I have averaged about 5 hours of sleep per night and even then he's gone before I am up most days – if he even comes home, that is. I wouldn't really know, I spend most of my nights in the rocking chair or on the floor of the nursery.</p><p>In fact, Josh was just about the only person I was looking forward to seeing today. But, unfortunately any thought I had of making myself scare was blown to hell the moment I got into the office. I've been overrun by visitors to my desk who want to check in with me. Everyone wants to see baby photos and ask how she's sleeping. Everyone also wants to tell me about all the time Josh is spending with Amy Gardner. Well, everyone except Toby who wants to bitch about how insufferable Josh has been.</p><p>I mostly dismiss them. Josh had already been spending a lot of time with Amy. She represents a large part of our constituency and her opinions and insights are important for our legislation work. Rumors that they were dating have been swirling for months, fanned largely by me. In part, because I thought it was funny and, in part, because I didn't think anyone would go looking for my relationship with Josh if they thought he was dating Amy. Still, the rumor I once perpetuated hurts now that my relationship with Josh doesn't feel as strong. I don't think Josh is likely to cheat on me with Amy, but his conspicuous absence is enough to plant the seed of doubt in my mind. And, even if everything is on the up and up, I am still pissed that it sounds like he is spending more time with her than he is at home.</p><p>So, you can see how all of this has set me up to have a truly awful first day back at work, but a day that would actually make me lock myself in a bathroom stall while crying my eyes out? Well, it took a special kind of day for that.</p><p>I hadn't actually seen much of Josh this morning. As I'd said before, my morning didn't go very well so I'd gotten in well after he was already in Senior Staff, and, between all my visitors and his schedule we really just didn't have much time to connect until around lunchtime when I finally caught him for his lunch order. Josh isn't often the hands-on type when it comes to emotions and we try to keep that talk out of the workplace at all costs, too, so it didn't surprise me when instead of asking how I was, he was kind of cold.</p><p>What did surprise me was his reaction when I tried to follow him with his schedule on his way to his next meeting in the Roosevelt Room. A meeting to which he was, predictably, running late. Following Josh around the West Wing isn't new. We've always had chats on the run, in and out of the halls and between his meetings. We've also always walked fast in the office. But childbirth took a lot out of me that I haven't regained yet. Walking in heels again feels like walking on stilts and walking too fast makes things feel like they're going to fall out of me, so, yes, I was having trouble keeping up.</p><p>At some point he looked back at me and barked at me to hurry up. I think that was finally the straw that broke the camel's back. I yelled back and there we were, causing a scene in front of several junior staffers. The look on Josh's face when I yelled back was what really did it, though. I screamed something about not having fully recovered yet (yes, it was probably a little graphic) and then felt the tears start. Instead of letting anyone have the satisfaction of seeing me cry, I turned on my heel and headed straight for the sparsely used ladies room near the East Portico. It was then, holed up in a stall, that I finally let the tears come.</p><p>Part of me half expected Josh to follow me to the bathroom to either see how I am or, possibly even continue the fight. But the rational side of me knows he won't. It's not that I think I don't rank high enough on his list of things that are important, it's just that, when trying to run a country, things like a spat with your wife can seem kind of trivial. I'll always be around, but the hostage situation, well that could go south much more quickly.</p><p>It still stings to see where I really rank on his list, these days though. I really thought Josh's avoiding home issues were related to me not being in the office with him. That having a temp who can't handle him in my seat was pushing him over the edge, but now I can see that's not true. He's acting the way he did last Christmas, you know, right before he put his hand through the living room window. It makes me sad I didn't notice it before, but also a little indignant. It's been difficult enough to keep a tiny human alive much less deal with his mood swings and unaddressed needs. At the end of the day, he’s an adult that needs to take the charge in managing his own mental health.</p><p>I'm startled out of my reverie by a knock on the stall door. I hadn't even noticed someone come into the bathroom.</p><p>"Donna, honey, are you ok?" Bonnie's voice floats through the closed stall door and it's genuinely filled with concern.</p><p>"I'll be ok, thanks Bonnie," I choke out, trying to school the tears out of my voice.</p><p>"I can imagine it's a tough day for you," she says. "The first day in daycare with a new baby is always rough. I guess you're not sleeping much either."</p><p>I snort, "not so much."</p><p>"That's normal at this point," she offers soothingly. "We all think we're so battle hardened by working here, but it's not the same as being all hormonal and getting woken up every 2 hours. Even Josh isn't that much of a tyrant."</p><p>Normally, a joke like that would cause me to laugh, but instead I sob again, louder. It's like it's involuntary.</p><p>"How much support are you getting at home? I hope your husband is taking some late-night feeds?" she says with a question in her voice.</p><p>It's a painful comment to me. I know she meant to be helpful, but it just reminds me again of how absent Josh has been.</p><p>When I don't respond she continues. "You know, at first I was really protective of the baby and our privacy and my mother-in-law, she was always calling, asking how she could help and I was always pushing back on her. I wanted to figure it out myself. But my husband turned out to be a bumbling idiot with the baby, and by week 5 I was so exhausted I think I was hallucinating. At that point I didn't realize I was saying yes to having my mother-in-law come over to help, but by the time she got there and gave me an uninterrupted 4 hours of sleep I realized it was the best decision I ever made, or didn't make as the case may have it. Anyway," she pauses, "I hope you'll ask for help if you need it, or, you know, you can borrow my mother-in-law if you need her. She LOVES babies. Wants me to have 10 more. I'm not on board with that, though."</p><p>For the first time in a long time, I actually feel myself start to lighten. It's a little bit hysterical, but some giggles come out with the tears. I thank Bonnie with a hug and reassure her that it's just the hormones and the stress of being back to work that are getting me. By the time I'm ready to face the bullpen, everyone is back at work as if nothing has happened, so I keep my head down and head for Josh's office. His meeting likely won't be over for another hour so I have plenty of time to execute my next move.</p><p>I take a steadying breath as I lift the phone handset and dial the number from memory. "Mrs. Lyman?" I begin uncertainly, with tears still framing my voice.</p><p>"Donna, dear, call me mom. What has my idiot son done now?"</p><p>When I get home from work, I sink down into the king-sized bed I've too often neglected over the past 6 weeks. The baby's hungry, of course, and rooting, so I lay on my side and position her next to me. It feels like a coil is unwinding in me as I inhale her scent and feel her warm body snuggled up next to me while she sighs and begins to suckle happily. She's just lately begun to smile and, although she does cry a lot, being near her really does make me happy.</p><p>I startle when Josh knocks quietly on the bedroom doorframe. I stretch and squint at the bedside clock. The baby and I must have fallen asleep because it's almost 8 p.m. As if on cue, my stomach rumbles.</p><p>"My mom called this evening, she, ah, she wants to come stay for a week. I told her no, but she pretty much ran me over," Josh says hesitantly.</p><p>I don't respond right away. I'm so surprised to see him that it feels like he's an apparition. I also notice he looks gaunt and disheveled.</p><p>"Actually," I say quietly, "I could probably use her help. It's been pretty tough to do this without any help, Josh."</p><p>It doesn't take any time for my words to make an impact. It's as if they were a lit match that got dropped into kerosene.</p><p>"What's that supposed to mean? There's no way I can even help you. She needs you to eat and you're the only one that can quiet her down. Are you pissed I'm not home changing diapers? That's your job! You were on maternity leave for a reason. And, it's not like I haven't been busy, I've been running a fucking country. Without any help from you I might add."</p><p>His words are so ridiculous I can't even react. Instead, I just look at him and blink. He's breathing heavy and pacing so I take that as an opportunity to talk.</p><p>"Ok, it's good to know what you think my responsibility as a mother is. Unfortunate to know what you think your responsibility as a father is. But, I'm back to work now and if you haven't met him, yet, I work for a tyrant who makes me work long hours and frequently yells at me. He also has a fucked-up idea of what my responsibilities as a mother are, so yeah, it will be nice to have some help around here since being back to work will interfere with changing diapers and nursing the baby. Jesus, Josh, even if I didn't need help it'd just be nice to have company, someone to talk to, and hopefully someone to talk some sense into your dumb ass."</p><p>He doesn't answer me, he just keeps pacing.</p><p>"Josh, I don't know what's been going on with you, but this isn't working out. If you think being a good father is what you've been doing by isolating yourself from your family, you're wrong. I can't continue doing this," I say motioning to the bed, "I want a real family with a real marriage and a present husband. I can't continue to sleep in the shadow of you for the rest of my life. If you can't do that for me, well then, I don't know what comes next, but it doesn't look good."</p><p>When he looks up at me, I can see he has tears in his eyes. I take a deep breath and pull him by his hand onto the bed where he collapses in a fit of silent tears fueled by both emotion and exhaustion. A huge part of me is so irreparably angry with him that I don't know how I'm going to get past it. If he'd kept up with his medication and his therapy, things never would have spiraled to this point. But, I also know he's human and I know somewhere deep down inside that I still love him in spite of his flaws. I also know that the baby, our baby, means I'm tied to him in some way or another for the rest of my life. For now, I'll have to do what I always do, put on my helmet and be a good soldier.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ok, I had to resolve the angst. Now that that's over with, I'll be back with some lighter chapters to follow.</p><p>A quick note on Josh in these past two chapters.... Most of the other fanfic I've read have Josh being this amazing father, but in reality that's just not how it always is, so I wanted to spin it a different way and do something I don't often see – Josh really struggling. Transitioning into fatherhood can be rough, especially if you've got a guy who is still dealing with PTSD and other mental health issues.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Her Choice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For those following along with the time frame we're right around The Two Bartlets, but obviously we're off in FanFiction AU-ville now.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I sigh heavily as I hang up the phone. I should be invigorated about finding a solution to the situation in Vieques, but instead all I can feel is relived and tired. I've been on and off the phone for well over 4 hours. I know if I looked at the clock it'd be well past 10 pm.</p><p>I hear a knock at my door frame and I look up, the lights in my office are off and my desk is only illuminated by the desk lamp so it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to see her clearly. She stops and I see her eyes pointed in the direction of the portable crib in the corner of my office where my daughter is sleeping. Donna brought the baby and dinner back to the office after daycare hours ended and it was clear our day wasn't anywhere near being over.</p><p>"Oh my God," she whispers. "Carol wasn't kidding.”</p><p>"You can talk in a normal voice, CJ, she won't wake up," I respond.</p><p>"Oh," she says. "I just can't believe you're ok with all of this."</p><p>I shrug, "It's late, she mostly just eats and sleeps. Doesn't bother me that much unless she poops."</p><p>"But you can't yell?"</p><p>"Eh, it may wake her up but she kinda seems ok with it when I yell."</p><p>CJ scoffs, "It's because she heard you yelling at Donna all the time when she was pregnant.”</p><p>I think CJ's right actually. I was kind of surprised by this myself. Sure, I'd heard about the studies that said that babies respond more to their parents' voices because they hear them more in utero, but I was skeptical until I saw it in my own daughter.</p><p>I watch as CJ wanders quietly over to the portable crib. I am not a very sensitive guy and I’m also a politician who has cultivated a reputation as not very emotionally fluent. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t read the room even if I choose to ignore what I see most of the time. So yes, of course, I notice the painful look on CJ's face as she looks at the baby. It's like I can see her biological clock actually ticking.</p><p>"You know, it'd be ok if you held her," I say quietly.</p><p>CJ jumps as if I've startled her, then starts to back away. "No, no,” she says. “You know the thing about sleeping babies. I have work to do anyway."</p><p>I shrug. "Have a good night." I call to her as she turns to leave and I look back to my next task. Unless she found a way to get out of it, Donna's got to be out for jury duty so the next few days are going to be insufferable.</p><p> </p><p>As it turns out the next couple days were even more insufferable than I could ever have imagined. The moment Donna finished jury duty and turned on her phone, she got a call from daycare because the baby wasn’t feeling well. Logically I knew that kids get sick, but I guess I didn’t know it would be this bad. The mix of guilt and anxiety over it being something serious coupled with the actual hell that is having a sick baby is worse than I’d ever realized.  </p><p>Last night she refused to sleep lying down and she’s had a low fever and runny nose all day which has made her very crabby. Donna thinks she has an ear infection. My mother says she’s teething, which would be early, but still possible. Regardless, day care wouldn’t take her because of the fever so now she’s here at work trying to nap upright in my arms as Donna and I both try to dig out from her absence over the past four days. I don’t even know how Donna is getting anything done, she’s essentially a walking zombie right now.</p><p>"Joshua Lyman! You look-" a voice startles me from my reading.</p><p>"It's Donna's baby," CJ immediately cuts in and then tries to steer Danny Concannon away from my office door.</p><p>I shoot CJ a foul look, and she looks appropriately chastened. Reporters, even those with with White House credentials aren’t typically just allowed to wander the halls of the West Wing outside of designated press areas, so someone had to have escorted him back to my area. And, since the MS hearings aren't wrapped up yet, Danny's not supposed to be in my bullpen even with an escort and CJ knows it. In fact, I think she's hoping that I don't ask her later why he's here, and I'm not, but Donna will once I tell her. Becoming a mother hasn't dampened her penchant for information, mostly gossip.</p><p>Danny ignores her and buzzes into my office to get a better look at the baby, who is thankfully blissfully smiling in her sleep. What can I say, after a rocky start, a lot of help from my mom and actually taking my prescribed anxiety medication, I'm settling in as a dad and, as luck would have it, it turns out the baby likes her daddy. But the smile means you can see her dimples which look suspiciously like my dimples. Genetics are a bitch.</p><p>"Hey, she kind of looks like you," Danny points out unhelpfully.</p><p>I try for a horrified look. Secretly, I love that my daughter looks like me, but I'm horrified about what Donna's reaction is going to be when she finds out CJ allowed a member of the press to even know about the fact that she has a child, much less get a good look at her. Then add in the fact that it was me holding her and that Danny started comparing us. I actually feel myself clench when I think about that.</p><p>"Danny stop," CJ admonishes. "With those blonde curls and her blue eyes, she's Donna's mini me. Donna would absolutely fall through the floor if she heard you comparing her to her slave driver of a boss and I'm sure her husband would feel the same."</p><p>I can't help it, when CJ says this I nod with a smug look. I stop myself just short of saying, 'Yeah, Donna's husband isn't happy with this at all.'</p><p>"Plus, the baby's sick," CJ continues, "and Donna would kill me if she knew I was letting the great unwashed public back here to expose her to more germs. Speaking of unwashed, I'm surprised she even let Josh hold her. Now scoot, I'll get back to you about the thing one I've had a chance to speak with the guy."</p><p>"Hey, I'm not unwashed!" I cut in.</p><p>Danny laughs, looks at the two of us and then without another word moseys out in a way only Danny does. I watch as CJ's eyes follow him with an unreadable mixture of emotions.</p><p>"You're gonna fix that, right?" I say nodding at Danny's back. "He's not even supposed to be back here. What the hell was he doing back here?" I intend to tell her all about how Donna's going to kill her for what just happened, but instead I only find myself capable of telling her how I'm gonna kill her. "The one thing Donna asked us to do, the one thing was to keep her child and her life out of the media and now we have Danny Freaking Concannon back here in my bullpen making comments about how the baby looks like me, CJ. How could you do that? You know he's not supposed to be back here!" The baby starts to whimper so I stop and shift her carefully in my arms so I can rub her back.</p><p>CJ looks down at the baby quietly. "I can take her if you'd rather," she offers softly. I guess now that the baby isn’t blissfully sleeping CJ thinks she can help?</p><p>Normally I'd be fine with CJ holding her, but Donna literally JUST got her to sleep before Danny came by and there was a lot of crying before that. I'm not good with the baby crying and am a little on edge still so I’d prefer we not try to wake her more by moving her.</p><p>"Nah, I'm good." I say and give CJ a smile that is somewhere between smug (she knows she's in trouble and I'm going to watch) and protective.</p><p>I start to go back to my report and out of the corner of my eye I see it. A flash of recognition. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and my veins run like ice.</p><p>"Where's Donna?" she asks.</p><p>"She just went to rearrange a few items on my schedule for tomorrow and get a couple faxes for me from the EPA on this report. She'll be back in a few minutes."</p><p>CJ nods and follows Danny's path back to the Communications Bullpen, but before she does, she looks back at me and says, "Have Donna schedule some time on your schedule for me tomorrow. We need to talk."</p><p>Donna must have passed CJ on her way back because she's back not a minute later. She huffs down in my visitor chair and starts organizing her papers in order to brief me. I look up at her and decide I might as well rip the band aid off.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p>"Oh, you don't have the baby?" CJ’s voice is little more than a sneer.</p><p>Donna did what she could to push out my beating, but two days after my daughter's first introduction to the press, I'm finally being called to the principal's office – at least CJ would like to imagine herself as the principal. We all know who the real boss is around here so I won't let her pull this crap on me.</p><p>"CJ, stop it." I retort as I lean on her desk. The baby is back at day care today, but I haven’t totally caught up on sleep so I need the corner of her desk to steady me. I would sit down, but I don’t think I want to have this conversation in a prone position.</p><p>"No, YOU stop it." CJ says standing to look me in the eye. "Your behavior lately is unbelievable. You already pressured Donna into keeping her job, a job that is impossible to do with a family."</p><p>"CJ, Bonnie's married with children," I cut in.</p><p>"But she's not your assistant, is she? And, if she was, you wouldn't be happy with her because she works a regular 9-5 schedule."</p><p>CJ slams a newspaper on the desk in front of me before I can respond. It's a glossy feature section highlighting motherhood in the District. The copy has a big red circle around a photo in the top right corner. It's a photo of a tall blonde woman with a baby carrier in one hand and shirts that appear to be fresh from the drycleaners slung over her other shoulder. It looks like she's getting help from someone else as she enters the door of an apartment building that looks suspiciously like mine.</p><p>"Oh shit, that's Donna." I say before I can help myself.</p><p>CJ looks down her glasses at me with an ‘I told you so’ look on her face.</p><p>"Wait, what the hell are you doing looking for news reports on Donna?" I demand.</p><p>"What the hell are you thinking if you aren't thinking I don't have interns combing through every bit of media that is published with any mention of any member of the White House staff, you idiot," she roars back at me.</p><p>"Oh," is all I can manage in response.</p><p>"Josh, admit it. You've never expected that Donna would work regular hours. I mean you even have her picking up and delivering your dry cleaning on Saturdays, always have. And, now that you're seeing just how difficult it is for Donna to be a mother and do this job you convinced her to stay in, you swoop in out of some overblown guilt complex and you're trying to fix it by running the White House day care for her while she makes your copies.”</p><p>I swallow hard as CJ’s words sink in. Shortly after Donna returned to work we had a come to Jesus moment wherein she left me know in no uncertain terms that things weren’t working out in our relationship and how much she needed me to actually, you know, be a parent. I’ve really been working on it, hence the baby in the office bit, but even still I have a long way to go. Now it’s strange to see how my actions in just being a mediocre parent are being interpreted.</p><p>“But what you don't see is how confusing it is,” CJ continues, unaware that I’ve zoned out on her. “How confusing it is for her and for the baby."</p><p>Well. That's surprising. I actually have to pause before respond. This was not the upbraiding I was expecting.</p><p>"CJ, this is ridiculous." I say, much more calmly. "When she first got pregnant we talked through her options. Stay unmarried and possibly get talked about negatively. Get married and possibly get talked about slightly less negatively. Find a new job and fade into the haze. When she told you about this you were horrified. Like any good boss I discussed her options with her. It was her choice. HER CHOICE to do what she did, CJ."</p><p>Ok, maybe I did get a little worked up at the end there. And, looking back, out of context, I suppose my choice of words there wasn't really very Women's Lib sounding or what not. And, I admit, I often get excited and put my foot – sometimes both feet even – in my mouth, but even then I don't think I said anything that justified what happened next. I think I actually saw CJ's head come flying off.</p><p>I am not even sure I can recount most of what she said, but I think it began with something like, "How can you say it was her choice when the guy refuses to wear a condom or takes it off halfway through because it doesn't feel as good and he can't finish, or says he's wearing one but isn't really." After that I pretty much stopped listening. I am still pretty conflicted about how our daughter was conceived. But even on my darkest days when she was a squalling newborn and I was trying to find ways of avoiding our house, I've never thought of her as a conniving mistake made to be an albatross around Donna's neck for my own pleasure and I certainly hope that's not how Donna feels either.</p><p>Suddenly I hear a new voice, "CJ, lay off Josh." I have no idea where she's come from, but Donna is now standing at the door to CJ's office looking like some sort of angel. "Aside from the pay and Josh’s bellowing, I love my job and Josh isn't confusing me or the baby. If you feel conflicted about that have that long overdue bottle of wine with me tonight and we'll talk it over more."</p><p>I look cautiously at CJ who has stopped yelling and is mulling over the suggestion.</p><p>Donna can tell CJ's not sold, so she continues, "Look, you have wine at your place?"</p><p>CJ nods. She still looks dubious but Donna isn't giving her quarter.</p><p>"Ok great, I'll order delivery around 6. By the time I pick up the baby and get to your house it will be delivered. We can eat around 6:45," Donna continues.</p><p>Then Donna looks at me. "Oh, and Josh you're needed in the Sit Room right away."</p><p>Donna turns to leave calling over her shoulder that she'll be at CJ's in an hour as I scramble after her leaving CJ’s door slamming in my wake.</p><p>"Do they really need me in the Sit Room?" I ask Donna breathlessly as I catch up to her in our bullpen.</p><p>"Of course not, I made that up to get you out of her office. Now, make yourself scarce until I get her out of here."</p><p>"How did you know?"</p><p>"Jesus Josh, I had a pretty good idea of what she was going to say so I was lurking and jumped in when I heard yelling." Donna looks positively unaffected. She’s too busy shutting down her computer.</p><p>"You are amazing," I say with true wonderment in my voice.</p><p>"That's why you married me," she shoots back.</p><p>We don't usually talk about our relationship at work, so this turn of conversation feels clandestine and surprisingly good. I'd even be a little turned on if I weren't still upset over what CJ just said to me.</p><p>"Are you going to tell her?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Tell CJ about…?"</p><p>"Not unless I have to."</p><p>I exhale, "ok, maybe I will keep my balls."</p><p>Donna laughs and shrugs on her coat. "Who said you still have them?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Damage Control</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Takes place immediately after the prior chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Of course, the moment we have poured our glasses of wine (yes, I drink while nursing. I don't get drunk, get over it) and have our forks poised over our take-out boxes, the baby wakes up and she is HUNGRY.</p><p>I put my fork down to unsnap her from her car seat and start pulling up my shirt to nurse her. At that point, I realize that CJ is nervously trying to look anywhere but at me. It's a feeling I am familiar with. Before you have a baby, your breasts are precious to you because they are currency with your sexual partners. After you have a nursing baby and they are quite literally out all the time. It desensitizes you to the idea that they are only sexual, but in my case, I am no less proud of them.</p><p>"CJ, it's ok to look at me, it doesn't bother me and they're actually quite sweet looking when they nurse."</p><p>CJ exhales and looks down at the baby and softens slightly. "I just didn't want you to feel exposed or be uncomfortable," she says.</p><p>I laugh, "You've got them yourself. They're fairly unremarkable. Plus, when you have a kid, all sense of modesty goes. I feel like there hasn't been a square inch of me not exposed or manhandled."</p><p>She laughs. We haven't had that much wine - I can't get drunk anyway, since I'm nursing the baby - but I can tell she wants to get something off her chest.</p><p>"CJ, you seem extra wistful when you look at her. Are you ok?"</p><p>"Donna I feel like I owe you an explanation," she says haltingly. "For the way I acted."</p><p>I wave her off. I can tell whatever's bothering her is still painful. "Look CJ, I saw the look in your eyes when I told you I was pregnant. I guessed you might have been before too, but obviously things didn't work out the same way as they have for me. You don't have to tell me."</p><p>She nods, "Yes, but I have to tell you. This whole situation has just reminded me of something that happened to me years ago."</p><p>I don't talk I just let her go on.</p><p>"Much like what I initially thought had probably happened to you, I got involved with someone I shouldn't have. Someone who was in a position of power and already had a family. It only happened a couple times, but I guess I got lucky or unlucky as it was and I found myself pregnant."</p><p>"Oh CJ," I say while reaching for her hand. "He didn't want the baby, did he?"</p><p>CJ looks blankly over my shoulder as she continues. I can tell she's used up all her emotion on this topic years ago, but it still bothers her.</p><p>"Don't know. I never told him. I strongly suspect he would have offered me money to terminate the pregnancy, but I was really conflicted." She pauses. "Then I had a miscarriage. It was over before I ever even had to make a decision on it. It was like a second chance, a mistake erased. And so I never told him, never told anyone. It could have destroyed his career and his family. I always wondered if I had enough iron in my veins to actually terminate the pregnancy. And I've always wondered if God has punished me for thinking about doing it by taking the baby. Seeing you as you went through something kind of similar was really hard for me. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you more, even just to talk."</p><p>She shakes her head and I know the discussion about that is over. It's back in the past.</p><p>As I let her story sink in, the baby decides she's ready for the other breast, so I pull her off, and reposition her and there is some definite nipple slippage. "Have you ever done this in front of Josh?" She asks incredulously.</p><p>Oh, CJ if you only knew.</p><p>I laugh, "I can't say he's never looked and caught a peek before, but I do usually try to cover up in public."</p><p>"Oh God, now I am thinking about the Deputy Chief of Staff ogling his young, blonde assistant's rack." I smile, CJ if you think that's bad, you should imagine how it looks to see his head between my naked thighs, but let's not go there.</p><p>"Still, I think this kind of thing would gross him out," she continues.</p><p>"I don't think you give Josh enough credit. He's not really that squeamish. I mean he did freak out the first time I sprayed him with breastmilk, but after that..."</p><p>I can't really describe the look that plays on CJ's face as she reacts to what I'm saying.</p><p>"Oh my God, CJ, I AM KIDDING." Ok, not really, but she doesn't need to know about that</p><p>"But seriously, I tried to freak Josh out multiple times when I was pregnant and he was pretty impervious."</p><p>"He freaked out pretty good the other day when Danny told him the baby kind of looked like him."</p><p>I wince. Josh hadn't mentioned that when he told me the story.</p><p>"So, now that you're back, things are less changed than I'd have imagined," CJ says, changing the subject.</p><p>"How do you mean?"</p><p>"Well, I mean, aside from the nutty Josh pulled after you had the baby and the first day you came back to the office, throughout this 'Donna becoming a mom' thing he's been downright normal. No trying to sabotage your marriage. Not acting jealous around you when you talk about your family life. Letting you leave at a reasonable hour, letting you remind him that he needs to leave at a reasonable hour. He's even passed on a few trips because he didn't want you to have to go and have to be pulled away from the baby."</p><p>This makes me laugh, of course Josh passed on trips if I couldn't go with him.</p><p>"That sounds like Josh. Why are you surprised he doesn't want to go without me there to carry his bags?  He can't travel without his luggage carrier extraordinaire.”</p><p>She sighs, "I guess I just expected that now that you were married your relationship to the job would change and it doesn't seem to have. It's almost as if…"</p><p>She pauses and shakes her head to say 'never mind.'</p><p>"As if what?" I feel worry start to creep into my veins.</p><p>"I don't even know how to say this." She pauses. "As if nothing changed. As if maybe you're not even married."</p><p>I'm dumbfounded. Of all the things I worried about going into this, not acting married enough was not one of them. Plus, believe it or not, aside from the first 8 weeks after the baby was born, I have been enjoying married life. How could she not see that?</p><p>Before I can respond, CJ continues. "That came out wrong. I guess I just thought for a moment a while back that so little had changed and you'd been so tight lipped about it. Maybe it made me question why I didn't question it more."</p><p>I nod slowly as I try to process her words. "CJ are you asking if I'm actually married?" I'm more incredulous than upset.</p><p>"I'm not, of course not, I see how happy you are and I know you wouldn't lie to us, but I guess at one point I wondered if I had Chris or Danny go looking for a marriage certificate if they'd really find it. I wondered for a few minutes if maybe what Josh said, what I said, had pushed you to do something or create a story that you felt, well... I had hoped you hadn't simply made up the marriage to protect the administration from a scandal if the media had decided to latch on to your pregnancy and make a big deal out of it. Then I felt bad that you had to elope, that you couldn't even invite your friends - that you couldn't invite any of us - to your wedding for fear that it would draw attention."</p><p>My brain is screaming at me. Aside from staying unmarried and unpregnant and un-in a relationship with my boss, getting married to Josh was probably the worst thing I could have done for the administration and the President. It proves Josh and I have a romantic relationship and it’s signed, sealed and searchable at the county recorder a town over from where my parents live in Wisconsin. In a weird way I'm actually flattered by what she's saying, but now I'm totally conflicted. It's great to feel like I have the upper hand - she's essentially praising me for my self-sacrificing decisions - but I'm also feeling uncomfortably guilty. She thinks I was selfless. So selfless that I created a reality to protect the President and to make her life easier. But I'm SO not selfless. I married the father of my child to protect myself and the man I love from scandal, but most importantly I did it because I came to the realization that I wanted to create a family even if it was sooner than I'd hoped to do it. And yes, I didn't invite CJ or Toby or the assistant staff to my wedding, but my whole family was there and it was at my family's church and then we had a reception at the VA Hall. Sure, it was a little tacky and a little midwestern, but it was everything I'd grown up expecting my wedding to be minus the fact that I couldn't drink because of my delicate state. So, it wasn't a wedding in the Rose Garden, but it wasn't a hardship either.</p><p>"Well first, I can assure you that yes, I really am married." I say in a slow, measured tone, trying not to betray myself. "Secondly, I'd strongly advise against asking someone, even a trusted member of the media pull my marriage certificate. If you really want to see my marriage certificate, I can show you myself, but I can assure you, you really don't want to draw any unnecessary attention to it and I'd prefer to just leave it at that.”</p><p>I take a sip of my wine before continuing.</p><p>"CJ, I suspect we're having this conversation because you've correctly realized that I haven't been entirely honest with you about all of this. And while I can tell you I never outright lied; you know as well as I do that I've told some lies of omission. Yes, I got married before I was really ready. I got married to protect the President from unwanted gossip, to protect Josh, or perhaps other male members of the senior staff, from getting mired in a sex scandal and to protect you from having to defend all of us. I also got married to protect myself, to protect my baby and my family from indelicate questions. But I got married because I’m in love and I wanted to get married and start a family.”</p><p>She smiles at me in response to my declaration, but in her eyes I can see that she’s still sad.</p><p>"We're women, CJ. We do these things with our eyes open. It's what we do when we work in this kind of job. What we do for people we love. Why do you still protect the identity of the man who got you pregnant all that time ago? Why did you protect him and never tell him what happened and what you were prepared to do? Yes, I've left out a lot of the details about my situation for you because I wanted to tell you just enough for you to not be blind-sided, but not so much that you feel compelled to act in some way. You're a fixer just like Josh is and I need you to let me protect you, too.</p><p>"The reason Josh is so grown up about this is because he loves me and he wants what's best for me." CJ's eyes go wide, I can't tell if it's because she doesn't think Josh loves me or she's surprised I know. But I dismiss her with a wave of my hand. "We've had several conversations about what I need right now and he knows that while I'm nursing the baby I won't leave her overnight. So, he's put off some trips in the meantime so I don't get dragged along before I'm ready.”</p><p>“So, you’re saying he’s been thoughtful and helpful and he’s not overstepping? Because Donna, I’ll be happy to tell him to back off for you.”</p><p>“No, CJ, I’ll be the first person to tell him to back off. He’s doing fine, just let him be. Although, if you want to help, help me pregame about what the campaign will look like, I’ll be happy for the help there. I'm honestly terrified of what we'll do when it comes time for the campaign travel, short of having my mother-in-law move in, which she's offered to do. I can't afford an overnight nanny. I'm honestly thinking about asking Zoe if she can babysit so I can bring the baby."</p><p>CJ snorts at the thought, "She'd probably love that actually. I can float the idea if you'd like?"</p><p>"Maybe. I'm not there yet. Anyway, listen, let's get through re-election. I’ll be done nursing then so we'll have more wine and we won't care about the gossip columns so much. I'm sure I've got some things to tell you that you'll find really juicy. Until then, know that I'm ok."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Lemon Lyman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As I have done in other chapters of this story, I have made several allusions to other fanfic in this chapter. The first half of this chapter is my love letter to all of the wonderful smut writers out there. Some of you do write some pretty outlandish stuff, but I love to live vicariously through your versions of Josh and Donna. The second half is a slight attempt to show a little more of sensitive Josh, per request from some comments I got when I first published this story. It’s not super lovey dovey but you do get a little more of Josh the husband here.</p><p>Also, hormones, especially postpartum hormones are a bitch.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I've barely rounded the corner out of the Operations Bullpen with my lunch bag still in hand in hand when Margaret beckons me to the Communications Bullpen.</p><p>"Donna, come come come, Carol found even more!" she whispers excitedly as she steers me by my elbow over to Carol's desk where Bonnie and Ginger are already crowded around Carol's computer screen.</p><p>"There's this other section on the site, you have to attest that you're 18 years or older to get in and request permission." Carols explains as I walk up.</p><p>"That's where the really good stuff is," Margaret adds. As if the dream date with Josh scenarios on weren't good enough already.</p><p>"Wow, this woman wants to give the remote control to her vibrating panties to Josh," Carol mutters with something between disgust and bewilderment in her voice.</p><p>"They make those?" Bonnie asks.</p><p>"Joke's on her," I giggle. "I doubt Josh would know what to do with that."</p><p>Margaret gives me a stare that's between disapproving and disbelief. "Josh is a very smart man, Donna, I'm sure he could figure out how to use…"</p><p>I raise my eyebrow at her and she stops. I really did not want to hear the end of that sentence.</p><p>It is nice to hear her defend Josh, though. For all the grief I give Josh in private, I try not to make fun of him too much around our coworkers. CJ is one thing, especially when Josh is committing some sort of egregious HR offense. I tell her about those kind of things because I know she'll help me gang up on him to convince him to do the right thing. But, to be a good assistant you have to be loyal to your man (or woman in Carol's case) and that means I don't go around gossiping about how Josh can't work his email or program his VCR.</p><p>Just this once I decide I'm going to give them what they want, though, it's probably a misplaced desire to prove just how out of bounds some of these writers are and just how well I know my husband.</p><p>"He called me on a Saturday at 7 a.m. after his power had gone out because he couldn't figure out how to re-program his coffee maker." I just let that hang there for a few seconds.</p><p>As what I'm saying relative to what we're reading sinks in, Bonnie starts to giggle. “So what you’re saying is that he’d have to give you the remote and ask you to show him how it works?”</p><p>"Oh my God, Donna, you're in this one!" Carol shrieks as she points at her monitor.</p><p>"What?" I say way too quickly and all eyes immediately flee back to her screen</p><p>"Yeah, this one, a woman I hope, is imagining walking in on you and Josh, uh, in flagrante, and then she joins in the fun."</p><p>"Oh God, Carol, keep your voice down."</p><p>I lean over her and quickly scan the page as I feel all the blood draining out of my face. How does this writer even know who I am? Do people think that way about me? About us? Do we have a stalker? Wow, don't open that bag! I actually feel myself turning green as I consider that.</p><p>"Well she's got this all wrong," Bonnie says as she points to the section describing the West Wing offices. "Clearly she's basing it on what she's seen on TV, which is really inaccurate."</p><p>I catch up to her on the page and heave a sigh of relief. This is about sex in Josh's office. We've never had sex in the office and probably never will. The only reason I say probably is that recently I've been considering just how long it's been since we've had real marital relations and concluded that, although it never feels like we have time anymore, we're just going to have to make time. I just hope it's not at the office, although now that I'm essentially reading porn maybe it will be… today. I take a deep breath. I have to get myself under control and then deflect.</p><p>"This part isn't accurate either, I say pointing to the climax scene. First, I am not a screamer and even if I was, I certainly wouldn't be screaming like that in the office while in the throes of, well whatever this is that I would never be doing in my life." I say while swishing my hand across the screen as if to erase it away for emphasis. It's not a lie, I am way too jealous to share Josh with another woman.</p><p>"I mean, do you really want the secret service busting in and questioning why they heard screaming?"</p><p>They laugh.</p><p>"We probably shouldn't be reading this in the office," Carol says and shuts the page. "I am not sure I should be reading this period. I could do without ever again reading about a lifelike description of Little Josh."</p><p>Margaret protests lightly, but the rest of us agree with Carol. I begin to gather my lunch bag and walk away, but stop and turn back.</p><p>"Do people really think I am... with him? I am married for God’s sake," I squeak out. I almost regret the words as soon as I say them. Why draw attention if I don't need to?</p><p>Carol shakes her head. "No, I don't think so, I mean I heard a rumor once about it, but it was like a year ago when you were helping with his recovery and it was pretty obvious then to all in the know that there was no sex going on. I think everyone understands you're just good at taking care of him."</p><p>I nod, "Thanks, Carol."</p><p>I find myself unusually lost in thought as I walk back to my Bullpen to drop off my lunch bag and then into Josh's office to review his afternoon schedule. He's on the phone when I enter and looks up at me as I hold my wrist up and motion to my watch to tell him he needs to get moving. He smiles at me. It's a smile he reserves only for me and, even after years together, it makes me feel warm inside. As I wait for him to finish his conversation, I look at his desk and can't help but imagine the scene I just read and shiver a little bit at the thought. I ignore the urge to measure the height to see if it’d provide a good angle if he bent me over it and…drove right in… He cocks his head at me as if to ask if I'm ok. I shake my head to clear it and then smile back and nod.</p><p>For the rest of the afternoon I do my best to keep my mind away from Lemon Lyman, but my efforts are seriously thwarted when Josh becomes equally obsessed with the policy section of the site. Having reviewed what I have on the site, I already know that the people who are posting on this site are, shall we say, of questionable sanity. But Josh won't listen and, as soon as he starts dictating to me, I realize this is probably one of those situations where I'll have to get CJ involved before the day is out.</p><p> </p><p>By the time Josh gets home from work, I have read all the "adult" entries that include me (they really should do a better job of vetting their group members) and concluded that the authors know little more about me than my name, title and what I look like. Some don't even know that much since one of the stories referred to me as having dark hair and dark eyes. Although maybe I would have dark eyes if someone was trying seduce my man right in front of me. It's a relief to realize these are just constructs of people's imaginations. And, some of them are actually really well written. Now I kind of feel bad that I gave several of the perfect date and the sightings about town entries to Ron Butterfield's deputy. He didn't seem overly concerned about postings on "a silly fan site," but from the brief glances I got at them while at work, I had serious, although I realize now, unfounded concerns about stalkers.</p><p>Regardless, it's jarring enough to read these even if these people clearly don't know us. And, I’m also upset because most of the posts that really included me getting in on the three-way action didn't represent me very well. Apparently the Lemon Lyman erotica fan base thinks of me generally as passive and deferential, which makes me both angry and amused.</p><p>For example, a few centered around the construct that the author had a scheduled meeting with Josh and that as I was entering the office to serve them coffee, I would catch them, to use Carol's word "in flagrante" and then would join in. Clearly they don't know that it would be a cold day in hell before I would "serve" coffee to Josh in the office.</p><p>All of this along with everyone's comments about Amy Gardner (yes, there were even a few in the sightings around town section) just serve to belie my unease with the lack of sex life we've had recently. And, if I'm totally honest, all of this is making me itchy for other reasons. Reasons I've never really shared with anyone, including Josh. Little thoughts that creep into my mind that tell me that I don't deserve Josh. That he's eventually going to lose interest and leave me for someone smarter. That I'm not qualified for my job and everyone knows it, including him. Should he care that I never finished college? Should he be encouraging me to go back to school? It's thoughts like these coupled with these fantasies about Josh that people have posted online that also mess with my perception of what a normal relationship is and if we have one. Should we be more into this kinky stuff? Should our passion be so burning hot that we can't keep ourselves from having a 4-minute quickie in his office? Could I even get him off in 4-minutes? Ew.</p><p>Despite our joking about Catholic school uniforms and the like, Josh and I have what I would think is a fairly normal sex life with a fairly normal amount of sex. In fact, I have described our sex life to my sister like bears preparing for hibernation. It seems like a lot when we are together, but then we go through longish periods when sex isn't possible or appropriate due to our jobs or, in this case parenthood – ladies let's be honest, it's been a while. And we really haven't ever done kinky stuff like vibrators or toys like this woman (please god tell me it's a woman who wrote that), but then again, for us, sex is as much a release, as it is an expression of our intimacy and it's not really something we do for entertainment or to relieve boredom. There is always something important that we could be doing and Josh's mind is usually immediately turning over work problems as soon as we are done. Maybe we just haven't hit our 7 year itch yet, or maybe I just need to stay off the Pill. During two months I was off it before I got pregnant I was the most willing I have ever been. Not that I want a carful of kids, though. Josh and I agreed on a maximum of 3. It was a compromise. I am one of four and adore my siblings. Josh sees tuition for Harvard and Yale in our future and would prefer to keep costs down to 2, or 3 if I insist.</p><p>"Have you eaten yet?" Josh startles me as he walks into our kitchen. Immediately aware that I've lost all sense of time and am guilty of getting sucked into the very website I vociferously told Josh to avoid, I shut the web browser and my laptop screen guiltily.</p><p>Unfortunately my brain and mouth don't get the same message my hands get and my greeting to him is a little less well coordinated. "I think we should be having more sex." I blurt out awkwardly. It wasn't really what I wanted to say, but not being able to take it back I let it hang between us.</p><p>Josh eyes me carefully before responding. His gaze isn't unkind, but I can’t help but immediately put myself into his imaginary shoes and think about the horror show that I must look like to him. I'm still wearing my work shirt, though I've unbuttoned it to feed the baby and instead of the skirt I wore to work, it's now paired with pajama pants and socks. My hair is cocked in a bun that is falling out, and it's really obvious that I haven't even thought about dinner although I am sitting at our kitchen table with my laptop and a cup of tea that's long gone cold. My bags from work are still by the front door. A sink full of unwashed bottles seems to dominate the kitchen. Our baby is asleep in my arms (her favorite place to nap), though it's probably past her bedtime. Not exactly the picture of June Cleaver, definitely not sexy either.</p><p>He grabs an apple from the fruit dish on the counter and takes a bite. "I didn't know if you were, you know, good to go yet. I didn't want to rush anything and hurt you," he says around the apple in his mouth.</p><p>He sits at the table gently. "Plus, I haven't really been in the mood much myself. Work's kind of been stressful, you know, and we still aren’t getting good sleep."</p><p>I nod slowly. I don't know why, but I feel his words as if they are an attack and feel myself starting to tear up. It's irrational, what he said was sweet and kind and considered my feelings in ways I don't often give him credit for doing. But in the moment, I'm hearing his response, in fact any response except tearing my clothes off, as proof that he finds me undesirable and he's been sleeping with someone else. Because really, what man would be ok with a several month sexual dry spell?</p><p>Josh sees my eyes start welling up and immediately realizes something's wrong. The look of concern on his face, immediately sends me spiraling out of control.</p><p>"You're cheating on me aren't you!" I accuse, through now real tears.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"You're cheating on me, Josh, it's been months, months since you've initiated sex. You find me undesirable, and you're taking your business elsewhere!"</p><p>"What the hell are you talking about?"</p><p>"Everyone, everyone has been telling me about your relationship with Amy Gardner, I didn't want to believe it, but, but…"</p><p>"Amy, really? Honestly Donna, I don't see it. I mean, I know you were joking about this back in October, which is probably where the rumor got started, but I really don't see it. She's certainly a smart woman, good at her job, but she's not warm or loving or, well, you. I don't want Amy, I want you. Marriage isn't just about sex, you know."</p><p>I try to start talking again, to tell him who told me he's seeing Amy Gardner and how her name kept cropping up on Lemon Lyman, but my voice is all choked up and I can't get the words out.</p><p>"No! No, no, no," he says coming around the table to me. He crushes me into him in a bear hug, startling the baby who is sleepily looks up at us and then closes her eyes and goes back to sleep as he gently rocks me and allows me to cry.</p><p>"Donna, honestly, even if you think I could do that to you, I don't even know when you think I'd have time to see Amy. I am with you, at work, sometimes 24 hours a day. Time that's most definitely not spent with Amy Gardner. Yes, we're not at a point in our relationship where we're tearing each other's clothes off. I'm not sure how you missed the memo on that, but I'm not really that kind of guy anyway. But even if I was, it's not my priority right now. When our baby was born the axis of my world changed. It's not just about me now. I realized, even if I couldn't stand to be at home, helping you, that all my waking time should be spent trying to make our nation and world a better place for our daughter. And before you start, know that I know that that on the rare occasions I have to do it, caring for her takes up every ounce of my considerable intellect. I stand in awe of you every day for how you care for her. I don't know what I would do without you in that regard, so I would never, ever dream of jeopardizing that."</p><p>I pause and look up, trying not to cry even harder at his words. He looks up at me and meets my eyes, "We'll get back to the sexy stuff at some point. I know it. But right now, stop worrying about that and make me a sandwich please?"</p><p>I can't help but laugh through what's left of my tears. He definitely knows how to play the sweet husband and pathetic husband card. I sniffle and rise from my chair, what left is there to do but put the baby to bed and make the man, my man, a sandwich?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Mommy's Night Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We're now at the end of season 3.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Did you see the news?" I'm interrupted by Toby knocking on my door frame.</p><p>"Yeah. I would say rookie mistake, but Sam's not exactly a rookie anymore," I answer with a sigh.</p><p>"I told him not to do it," Toby says.</p><p>I drop my feet from my desk and look squarely at Toby. "You did, Bruno did, CJ did, we all did. Now it's just another dumb example of a process story that drowns out our message and gets us bad press. I feel like it's fucking déjà vu. He got played and now the President gets to blame me."</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"You need anything? I've really got to focus on this Welfare Bill. I'd like to at least get something accomplished this term."</p><p>"It can wait," he says, but doesn’t leave. Instead, he scrutinizes me with blank eyes as he strokes his beard. Clearly he’s still mulling something over.</p><p>"Listen, if you're looking for how to encourage Sam to move forward from this, you've got to remember he's not like you and me. We're always looking to see how someone else is expecting to win. He's an idealist, he always assumes positive intent. When he's not mad, he thinks everyone is an idealist like he is and they're not. Let him be mad at Kevin. You'll get more mileage out of this if he stays mad."</p><p>Toby just grunts in response but I can see in his eyes that he’s considering what I just said.</p><p>As I turn back to elevate my feet and return to my report, my eye catches the clock on the wall. "Oh shit, is it 6:15?"</p><p>I immediately jump from my chair and begin throwing things in my bag. "I promised Donna I would be home 15 minutes ago. She's going out with the assistants club or whatever the hell they call themselves and I've got to stay with the baby."</p><p>"These are things I would rather not know. Plausible deniability and all that," Toby mumbles to me as I push past him out the door.</p><p>"Yeah, I don't care. Good luck with Sam," I call back over my shoulder as I charge through the Bullpen.</p><p>When I come through the front door, I find Donna is waiting for me in the entry to our apartment with the baby on her hip. It's scary how she can predict my arrival like that. Maybe she really is in tune with me.</p><p>"Since you were running late, I already fed her dinner, so you don't have to worry about that. Her nighttime bottle is in the fridge, give it to her at 7:30. Then read her books and rock her to sleep. Extra milk is in the freezer if something crazy happens. Don't microwave it!"</p><p>"But I can microwave my own dinner, right?"</p><p>She glares at me. "If you are too feeble minded to remember this, I wrote it all down," she says handing me a scrap of notebook paper covered in her familiar yet, still illegible scrawl.</p><p>She hands me the baby then shrugs on a light coat and her purse. I follow her to the door to say goodbye. She leans in to kiss me, then cups the baby's cheek lovingly.</p><p>"I am just not sure I should go," she says while looking our daughter in the eyes.</p><p>"I am a man of superior intellect. I'm sure I can handle a few hours by myself with the baby."</p><p>Donna gives me a look that can only be described as unmoved by my confidence. "Listen, call me or page me if there is any problem. I won't be home too late. I promise, I'll leave as soon as it's appropriate," she assures both of us.</p><p>"Don't worry about it, take your time and have fun," I tell her and I mean it. This is really the first opportunity she's had to go out for a little fun on her own since she's had the baby. It's not like I've gotten many opportunities to do the same myself, but it's been fewer than 8 months, that's for sure.</p><p>Donna closes the door behind her and it's just me and the kid. I look at the clock, it's 6:45. Just 45 minutes til bedtime. I've got this. Donna will laud my superior fathering skills tomorrow. Dad of the year will be my title.</p><p>I haven't eaten since breakfast, so the first order of business for me is food. Once my dinner is in the microwave, I walk into the living room and toss some baby toys onto the floor around a blanket. "Will you be a good girl for Daddy and play with your toys while Daddy finishes reading this bill that Daddy has to get passed?" I say to the baby as I set her down in the middle of her toys.</p><p>My plan works well enough for a while. She seems happy playing and crawling over to me every few minutes to steal a bite from my dinner and although my full attention isn't going into the bill I'm redlining, it's better than nothing. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end and when my plate is empty, the baby is not interested in playing with her toys any longer.</p><p>She crawls over to me and, upon realizing I'm not going to give her a bite of food, she refuses to let me put her down. She is actually clinging on to me like a tiny koala bear. "Just a little more time, baby girl, I promise," I say. She fusses at me in response. She looks a little tired so I stand up and allow my natural inclination to pace while reading to take over. She quiets as I pace while reading out loud and before I know it, she's asleep on my shoulder. Well, that was easy. Why the heck was Donna so worried about this?</p><p>I should probably go put the baby in her crib, but she's warm and cuddly and I know from past experience that she sleeps best when it's next to me or Donna so I ease myself down in my chair and keep reading and making notes.</p><p>I'm down to the last 100 pages or so when the baby wakes up, which is surprising to me. I thought she was down for the night. She opens her big blue eyes, looks up at me and starts screaming. She is pissed!</p><p>I jump up, instantly in battle mode as I try to figure out what I did wrong. Then I look at the clock, always the damn clock. I lost track of time again. It's almost two hours past when I should have given her a bottle. I race to the kitchen to retrieve it then I lay her down on her feeding pillow and hand her the bottle. She gives me a "what took you so long look," puts the bottle in her mouth, sniffles and starts to suck. I feel myself begin to unclench just a little, but it's short lived. She takes maybe three sucks before she pulls the bottle out of her mouth, side-arms it across the room and begins wailing again.</p><p>Possible solutions start flooding my brain, but none seem right. I pick her up and begin patting her back over my shoulder, but it's not helping at all. I'm just about to call Donna to tell her that babies need to come with instructions when I remember that Donna left instructions.</p><p>I race back to the kitchen and toss all the papers on the kitchen counter around until I can find Donna's note, which I then have to hold up and squint at. Damn, I'm getting old. Oh, I should have warmed the bottle up!</p><p>Warming the bottle without microwaving it takes forever, but soon enough she's back on the pillow with her warm bottle and I see her eyes start doing the droopy thing. With minimal struggle I get her changed into her pajamas and into her crib. I might have skipped books tonight, but she got to hear my thoughts on some of the amendments we need to make to the Welfare Bill, that should be good enough right?</p><p>Baby settled, I dump my dinner plate and the bottle into the sink, grab a beer and relocate to the bedroom where I strip down to my undershirt and boxers and start to make myself comfortable with my last 100 pages. I no sooner than sit down on the bed before I hear the baby start wailing again.</p><p>I still can't stand the sound of crying, so I'm up out of bed in record time and race down the hall. Fortunately, the moment I pick her up the baby quiets after letting out a humongous burp and falls back to sleep on my shoulder. I can't help but smile. As I'm apparently a gigantic pushover, I feel bad putting her back in her crib, so I return to the master bedroom and settle her on the bed next to me. The last thing I remember before I drift off to sleep is the feeling of her tiny warm body next to me lulling me to sleep. It's got to be some physiological thing.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When I wake up in the morning, I'm surprised to find the sun already up and the bed cold and empty. Here I was hoping for a slow Sunday morning. I thrash around a little bit before I come to and have a vague recollection of Donna waking me to tell me she was going into the office early for some reason. I shake the sleep out of my eyes and dial the office.</p><p>"Oh, good, you're in the office."</p><p>"Yeah, I told you that's where I was going."</p><p>"Sorry, I kinda remember you telling me that. How was your thing last night?"</p><p>"Good, it was good. I missed you and the baby, though. I hated hearing about all these things my friends were doing, moving on with their lives, doing exciting things, and yet all I wanted to do was be home with you and the baby."</p><p>"Listen, speaking of all the things people are doing, this came up last night after you left. I'm sending you to Bismarck, okay? You got to go tomorrow and sit in on a DNC platform meeting where they're discussing whether or not..."</p><p>"Hang on... I'm sorry, hang on a second. Did you just say you were sending me to Bismarck?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"North Dakota? I just got done telling you how much I didn’t want to be apart from you and the baby and you’re sending me to North Dakota?"</p><p>"It's just for a day you'll be back…"</p><p>"Am I being punished? Is this about the moose meat again because," she lowers her voice a little, "I have to tell you, you've attempted plenty of wonderful romantic gestures, but moose meat, just not the ideal gift for your wife, especially not if…"</p><p>"Just the opposite, my friend," I say cutting her off. Even on a Sunday, I have no idea who could be in the office able to overhear her and although it's perfectly acceptable for Donna to talk about her husband, because people know she's married, there are boundaries about what we talk about openly in the White House and I think she was about to cross one of them.</p><p>"I'm being promoted?"</p><p>"I wouldn't go that far…What are you doing at the office so early?"</p><p>"I've got to put your stuff together for Congressman Pimento. I didn't have time to do it last night since I left early."</p><p>"Pintero?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"I forgot I had that meeting."</p><p>"I gathered. So, how does a person get to Bismarck?"</p><p>"The Iditarod, Donna. They have an airport; it's the capital."</p><p>"Now that you're up, are you coming here? I have to leave soon. Lilly can only keep the baby until 1 and I need to run to the store before I get her."</p><p>"As soon as I get dressed."</p><p>"Goodbye."</p><p> </p><p>"Good afternoon, Congressman," Donna greets us on her way out of the Bullpen.</p><p>"Good afternoon," he says warmly to Donna.</p><p>"I'm off to buy prairie gear," she says to me, slightly under her breath. Our relationship wouldn't be what it was if she didn't give me hell for giving her the jobs I don't want to do. Jobs like going to North Dakota.</p><p>"It's a city. You've been there."</p><p>I step aside as she passes and as I do, I stop myself from leaning in to kiss her. Close calls like this keep happening more and more and after comments like Toby's yesterday, I'm beginning to question then necessity of all this secrecy. I'd always thought we could probably drop the charade once the campaign ended and we're getting close to that. For a second I start to imagine what having an open relationship with Donna would look like. CJ and Leo would probably have my liver for lunch, but Sam and Toby already know and would probably defend me. The President is a romantic at heart so he'd probably only be upset that he didn't know about it sooner.</p><p>"I'll call later!" she calls to me.</p><p>"You seem a little frazzled," the Congressman says to me, effectively interrupting my train of thought.</p><p>At a loss for what to tell him I was actually thinking about, all I can do is make up an answer.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Frustrated</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This takes place late summer early fall right around the time of 20 Hours in America. I'm assuming there was some campaigning we don't see in the show and this takes place during that time frame.</p><p>Also, I love drunk CJ.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I'm sorry, the congressman's vote will be no, it's final. There's nothing more I can offer you unless you take the bill back to committee. Have a good day Josh."</p><p>"Just five minutes with the congressman, Paul. Let me make my case." I want to go on, but the line is dead. He hung up on me. A surge of adrenaline rushes through me. It feels like adrenaline is the only thing fueling me these days and the best escape from it is physical.</p><p>"Mother fucking Paul pipsqueak Pierson," I growl as I start beating the handset to my phone on the edge of my desk.</p><p>I fail to notice that Sam has stepped into my office, because I am instead focused on the very satisfying crunch the phone handset has made as it crumbles from the force of meeting my desk.</p><p>"Whoa there, friend. Are you ok?" Sam asks in that way he does when he’s both genuinely concerned but also secretly glad he’s not the cause of why I’m losing my temper.</p><p>"I'm just frustrated," I say, allowing the broken handset to fall to the floor then dropping my head into my hands and furiously rubbing at what hair I have left. Trying to govern while running a presidential campaign is making me lose my hair faster than fatherhood.</p><p>"We just lost a vote on 626. The good congressman wants a pork barrel provision added," I say to Sam.</p><p>"Are you sure you're ok, buddy? This seems like more than your garden variety frustration over losing a vote," Sam says looking genuinely concerned.</p><p>"No, I assure you, it's frustration, just not the kind that only comes from your job. With all the travel, I haven't seen much of Donna lately so I think my fuse is shorter than normal."</p><p>"Oh?" I see him doing the mental math. "Oh! Well I am just not sure how I can help with that," he says looking both sympathetic and a little stand-offish.</p><p>Everyone knows that Donna keeps me on an even keel. Even when we're just spending time together at work she tempers me. Unfortunately, since the campaign began in earnest, Donna and I have pretty much been passing ships in the night - even in the office. And, with my mother living with us to help with child care, it makes spontaneity at home difficult, so I can't even say I have that outlet for all the stress. Oh hell, let's be honest, the few times we have had the opportunity and I stress FEW, little Josh fell down on the job at the thought of my mother in the next room.</p><p>Like most new parents it took us a while to get our groove back after the baby was born. Donna even had quite the meltdown over it. But slowly we did, only to have that groove interrupted by almost constant travel for the campaign. For instance, I woke up this morning in Florida where I was working with an advance team, flew back home commercial first thing and in a few short hours, I will be in the air again, on my way to California for a two-day campaign rally. So basically, I have been home just long enough to switch out my clothes, lose a vote on 626 and break my phone handset and then I'll be off to catch another plane. Tonight, though, I'm traveling with the President and most of the rest of the senior staff including Donna and the executive assistants. I am praying the trip offers us some private time. I've got to alleviate some of this pent up need I have before I explode.</p><p>If I sound particularly and unreasonably desperate, I am. I am boiling over this morning in particular due to a very realistic dream I had last night AND Donna's wearing her gray skirt today. The one she knows drives me crazy. I hope she's sending the message I think she is by wearing it.</p><p>Donna has hinted in recent weeks that she shares my frustration, but I think it's different for women. For one, men are more visual and I just can't get the vision of her from my dream out of my head.</p><p>Actually, visual or not, at this point, I would even take mediocre phone sex. Typically Donna and I don't really do phone sex for several reasons. One, we just aren't really very good at it. For all the talking we do, that surprised me, but it's true. Second, time and privacy are at a premium for both of us. For her part, Donna's travel schedule hasn't been so rigorous, I've kept her off most of our overnight trips, but that doesn't make it any easier on her. She has spent most of the time I have been away working long hours taking care of my office and the baby who, despite my mother's best efforts, is still not sleeping nights. Last week, Donna had a sob session on the phone with me that I think was sleep deprivation induced wherein she basically told me that the only reason she feels like a halfway decent mother right now is because she's still nursing the baby, although she's more often pumping and giving the milk to my mom or daycare who are bottle feeding the baby for upwards of 12 hours a day, something that I am sure is also affecting her mental health. Finally, having seen just how close we all got to prime time when Congress questioned us about the President's MS, I don't ever want to have answer the question about my actions while using government property which includes my government issued cell phone.</p><p> </p><p>Sam opens the door to my office and calls for Donna. She's in my office in a heartbeat, nice that she comes quicker for Sam than for me.</p><p>"Josh's gonna need a new phone," he says while gesturing at me.</p><p>I try to muster a sheepish look as she surveys the damage.</p><p>"Joshua what have you done now?" Her voice is a blend of frustrated teacher and playful. I love it.</p><p>"We lost a vote on 626. The phone handset bore the brunt of my frustration," I explain like a little kid about to get spanked.</p><p>She purses her lips at me. "I guess better the phone than me or Sam."</p><p>Then she stoops down to start collecting the debris.</p><p>I can't help myself, and crane my neck to look down her shirt as she bends over to pick up the plastic remnants of my phone. If I can see which bra she's wearing I might be able to judge whether my frustration will be eased up anytime soon. Ah, hell or maybe it will just make the situation worse.</p><p>"The things I do for you," she mutters as she drops the remains of the phone unceremoniously in my trash can. "I hope one day you will learn your lesson."</p><p>"Will you have to punish me?" I ask. My voice sounds almost gleeful. She rolls her eyes.</p><p>"See I used to think you were funny, now I am just kind of grossed out," Sam mutters.</p><p>"Hey, at least it's just banter and you don't have to see anything," I offer.</p><p>"Yeah, who'd want to see his bare ass?" Donna deadpans to Sam while motioning to me.</p><p>"Hey! I work very hard on this cute little butt I'll have you know!"</p><p>Donna snorts, "you mean you work very hard on it by sitting on it for long hours pretending to run the country?"</p><p>"See, you think you're funny, but you're not."</p><p>"I will have to see if I can call in a favor to get a replacement phone set today before we leave. Hopefully if I tell them I beat you with it they will do a rush job. Until then you'll have to use mine," she says dismissively as she moves to my office door.</p><p>"Bring me a bottle of water when you bring your phone in," I call after her.</p><p>"You're funny. At my desk, and no," she calls over her shoulder. I could swear she swayed her hips a little more than she usually does.</p><p>"No?"</p><p>"No, I'm not your waitress," Donna yells as she near knocks into CJ on her way out the door.</p><p>"When will you ever learn that women want romance Josh?" Sam opines sarcastically.</p><p>"He'd have to get one first," CJ fires back having slipped into my office after Donna left.</p><p>I don't take her bait. Instead, I turn to her with a broad smile. "How can I help you Claudia Jean?" I may have just lost a vote, but I am feeling much better about my prospects tonight.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Hey CJ," Donna says into my cell phone. It's 6 p.m. and Donna and I are sprawled out on my hotel room bed pulling apart 626 trying to figure out how to make up some votes. Yes, the sex had to wait, I need to pass this bill. "No, I am in Josh's room."</p><p>Instead of a response on the phone I hear a loud "Donnatella Moss, come drinking with us," booming through the thin hotel walls accompanied by CJ knocking obnoxiously on the door. Apparently her room is right next to mine. Great. Must file this Information in the "important to know for later" part of my brain.</p><p>Donna ends the call on my phone as I open the hotel room door and pull CJ in before the entire hotel knows about CJ's California Adventure drinking plans. In fact, I think CJ's already been drinking a little – the campaign's been rough on all of us. Donna looks to me with a question in her eyes. CJ assumes she's asking for permission, but really Donna's asking for guidance. We called my mom to say good night to the baby as soon as we landed in LA and Donna has been distracted ever since. This is the first overnight trip she's taken since she had the baby and the level of guilt she's feeling right now is immense.</p><p>"Go on," I say waving my hand. "This doesn't really need to be done tonight."</p><p>As much as I would like to keep working, it won't be much of a distraction for her and, selfishly I also know that I have a better chance of getting lucky tonight if my wife is a little tipsy. Don’t judge me, she’d agree and I can assure you, she’s usually a more than willing participant.</p><p>"Ok, but wait, I need to pump some milk first. Will you wait or can I catch up?"</p><p>"Is it girls only?" I ask CJ.</p><p>"No, Spanky is coming too," CJ says, using the nickname she calls Sam when she's in a good mood, "so you can come as long as you're not deputy downer." Apparently CJ is drunk enough to have co-oped the name Donna calls me when she’s annoyed with me.</p><p>"Ok, you go do your thing," I say motioning to Donna. "I will finish up with this thing and we can catch up with everyone in a half hour or so."</p><p>Satisfied that she has freed Donna from her perpetual servitude to me - at least for the night - CJ gives Donna directions to the bar and turns to go.</p><p>Donna waits until CJ leaves to retrieve her breast pump from her bag. We haven't expressly discussed it, but I think we both assumed she'd stay in my room tonight and I am sure she didn't want to call attention to the fact that her bags are in my room even though it can easily be explained away by saying I work her too hard and therefore she hasn't had time to go to her room yet. The level of skill I am getting in deception is really quite scary.</p><p>Donna finds pumping just about the most embarrassing thing to do with an audience ever so she sets up in the bathroom. I don't share her sense of modesty and follow her in to continue our initial conversation anyway.</p><p>As she's finishing, I allow myself to stop and watch her pack up and put herself back together and it's then I feel the lower part of my anatomy start to stir.</p><p>Jesus, how hard up am I if the sight of my wife, topless pumping breastmilk is getting me hot and bothered?</p><p>I'm brought back to reality by Donna. "Joshua, focus," she says snapping her fingers at me. "Let's go before we miss the fun."</p><p> </p><p>As it turns out, Donna and I weren't too far behind CJ, Sam, Carol and Bonnie, although I think it might have taken a while for them to corral CJ, who, after only having had a few sips of her grasshopper is already on the dance floor making a total mess of herself. This would never work in D.C. where everyone knows us. In California CJ's just another drunk on the dance floor and we're just a group of friends sitting in a bar, anonymous and apolitical. Thank God, too. Sam just pointed out that I had Donna's lipstick smeared on my neck and collar. Oops. Once we realized the cab driver had zero idea who we were, we might have done some old fashioned making out in the back of the cab. It only got weird later as I was paying when the cabbie pointed out she had a wedding ring and I didn't. Apparently I scored several points for making out with a married woman. Never did I think I'd lead such a life of intrigue.</p><p>But now, sitting here at a high-top table at a trendy, but not too trendy bar in LA, with my hand surreptitiously creeping up her skirt as the pad of my thumb keeps beat with the music on her inner thigh, dangerously close to forbidden territory, I can't help but feel a new spark of excitement for this life of intrigue. I have never felt my sex life with Donna was lacking, but we never really got into the clandestine stuff before. Maybe we need to soon. Just to help me keep my sanity until the campaign is over.</p><p> </p><p>Back at the hotel Donna stifles a giggle as we get my door unlocked. She's got a wide smile on her face and she's urging me on. The last thing I say to her is to remind her that CJ's room is next door before pushing her backwards onto the bed. If I have my way, it's going to be a long night of reconnecting, words shouldn't be necessary, though.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Things Fall Apart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the end it's not our newly rekindled sex life, but rather our verbally advanced toddler who blows the jig with CJ. Now that our daughter is just over a year old, she has quite a vocabulary. She's our kid, would you expect anything different? Her first word at 8 months old was "uh oh," something that was laughingly appropriate given her entrance into our lives, and she really hasn't shut up since.</p><p>I had been trying to make a concerted effort to keep her out of the West Wing, the American people really don't need more than one Lyman running around the White House, but as it always happens, the world starts falling apart right before daycare closes and tonight it had me making a mad dash to pick her up and then rushing back to the office to help Josh and the rest of the staff deal with the crisis. Now that the election is over, things have settled down and my mother-in-law has packed off back to Florida. As such, it's back to just me and Josh in charge of childcare with a tiny bit of help from our neighbor's teenage daughter, Lilly. Tonight, my plan was simple, so simple. I was going to stash her in the corner of Josh's office with books, crayons, snacks and our recently acquired best friend Elmo, while I worked at his desk and Josh decamped to the Roosevelt Room where several negotiations are ongoing with Toby and Sam. What I didn't predict is the exact moment I was walking into his office with our daughter, Josh was walking out. It must be that being in tune with each other thing. He looks at my bag of tricks and our daughter. We exchange understanding smiles, and I am confident he understands the plan, but then he makes a disastrous move. He tousles our daughter's hair and says "Hello Gorgeous" quietly in the voice he reserves for only us.</p><p>"Daddy!" She squeals and launches herself at Josh.</p><p>I wince. Even in the crowded Bullpen, the decibel level and pitch of her voice carries and suddenly I feel like everyone in the Bullpen turns to look just as our toddler foists herself into Josh's arms as she delightedly squeals "Daddy" over and over. I am suddenly paralyzed. I am watching a train wreck. I must stand there for a full minute before I see CJ barrel in from behind me dragging Danny Concannon by the ear. She stops briefly to thrust the file she had been holding in my now free arms and secures Josh's ear with her newly empty hand and sweeps all three of them into Josh's office with her.</p><p>"Donna!" she yells, and I am shaken from my temporary paralysis and scurry into the office after them.</p><p>"Shut the door," she snarls at me.</p><p>Josh winces, he's afraid she's just scared our daughter, and by the look on her face, I can tell he's right. His concern for his daughter's fear does not, however, stop him from positioning her in a way that makes it seem as if he is using her as a human shield to protect himself from CJ. Josh is clearly equally concerned about his kneecaps and, dare I say, testicles. I am too, because one day I would like more children.</p><p>The tension in the silent standoff that follows is palpable. CJ is pacing as she's trying to collect her thoughts while Danny looks at her curiously. Josh breaks the silence first. "CJ, let me explain," he starts. It's just about the stupidest thing he could do. When being interrogated you have to figure out what your captors know before giving it all up.</p><p>"Joshua, shut up," I say firmly.</p><p>"Thank you, Donna, I always knew you were the brains in this relationship." CJ then turns to a Danny. "You absolutely will not make this a story. This is a misunderstanding," she declares.</p><p>Danny looks at her with unbridled annoyance. I think they were already arguing and this is a continuation with a new topic.</p><p>"A misunderstanding of what?” he seethes.</p><p>“Of a personal relationship that is not newsworthy,” she grits out in return.</p><p>“Claudia Jean Cregg! Don't you ever even insinuate that you can tell me what is and isn’t newsworthy! Second, did I say I was going to write a story about Josh’s personal life? If we were really gonna make this a story don't you think we would have done that two years ago or whatever when they got married?"</p><p>For the next 30 seconds or so CJ tries in vain to cover up her shock, but all three of us know her well enough to know she's been completely caught off guard.</p><p>"CJ," Josh starts again. I seriously think my husband has a death wish.</p><p>"Shut up Josh," I say again and he lets his mouth snap shut. Instead of saying anything, I round Josh's desk and pull the bottom right drawer all the way out, in the very, very back I pull out Josh's tactical bottle of whiskey. Then I hand my bag of baby tricks to Josh, it's going to be Daddy daycare in the Roosevelt Room tonight. Sam will be delighted, he loves his goddaughter and she loves him.</p><p>"Come on CJ," I say, as I swing the bottle of whiskey up to eye level. "Boys, we'll be in CJ's office. Josh, bring her to me when she gets tired." I say motioning to the baby. "Her snacks are where they usually are in the bag."</p><p>And with that I pull CJ back to her office.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Off the Record</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter follows immediately after the last.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After Donna closes the door behind her I'm left standing awkwardly in my office with my daughter and Danny.</p><p>"She's really cute," Danny says.</p><p>"Thanks,” I tell him. “And thanks for your help back there."</p><p>"No problem." Danny gives me a congenial smile, but doesn't move toward the door.</p><p>Unable to let the moment pass, and thinking back to Donna's comment about the curious lack of reporters on our doorstep, I have to ask him. "So, you've known we were married, like, all this time? Has everyone in the White House press corps known too?"</p><p>"Well, I have for a while at least. Not until we realized she was pregnant, though. I admit that was kind of a shock. It was kinda ballsy to start a family in the President's first term while you were still working together."</p><p>"Yeah, not my finest moment of foresight," I agree without elaborating more.</p><p>Always a storyteller, Danny continues unprompted.</p><p>"At first Greg and I couldn't help but get curious about Donna being pregnant because of that. Katie, she's got a kid of her own, tells us to leave it alone. Apparently, she'd known Donna was pregnant for a while before we did. She'd been in the bathroom when Donna was getting sick months before. But I am a scoundrel and didn't listen to Katie, so I kept digging. I saw the ring and the blurry wedding photo she keeps on her desk, but I was looking for a marriage registration. Right when Donna was about to pop, I finally found it - you guys made it hard. I originally thought that was CJ's work but now I know it wasn't."</p><p>"It was actually Donna's work," I volunteer, still kind of dazed that all this was going on without us – especially CJ – knowing about it.</p><p>"She's a master," Danny whistles.</p><p>"Wait, you spent all that time looking for the marriage certificate only to not write about it? It probably would have been a big story, you know, I'm sure Mary Marsh would have it for lunch."</p><p>Danny shrugs. "Maybe. She's kind of in the marriage and family camp, though, so it's possible it would have just made her look like more of a hypocrite to everyone else who doesn’t really care. Besides, everyone in the White House pool, we all see how you look at Donna, it's obvious the kid was gonna be yours. Besides, I mean, I like you all as friends, so I have some vested interest in your lives, but feature stories about married politicians with babies, they just make me wanna yak. I wanna write about the mysterious death of the Qumari Minister of Defense potentially on an air strips in Bermuda, ya know?"</p><p>"Yeah, ok," I answer.</p><p>"Anyway, after much deliberation, I show the marriage license to Katie who turns white and asks me to claim she never saw it. 'It may not be what you think it is, Danny,' she says, 'and even if it is, he did the right thing by her. Drop it.' So, Katie puts this thought in my head, what if the baby isn't yours and you just made her an honest woman to protect her. Then I saw you holding the baby in your office that one day and I knew for sure."</p><p>"That day. You already knew she was mine?"</p><p>"Yeah, she looks just like the perfect blend of you and Donna, Josh. I'm sure she's smart as a whip too. One day she's probably going to rule the world. She doesn't need me writing about how she was conceived out of wedlock in some secret White House relationship or some garbage like that. Like I said, I'm interested in real news."</p><p>My daughter shifts in my arms. Impatient to be set down to explore. With that Danny pats me on the arm, "Don't you have work to do? A country to run?"</p><p>I smile, "Yes, yes I sure do."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Denouement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After I shut the door to CJ's office, I unscrew the cap to the liquor bottle and hand it to CJ. She takes a generous swig and hands the bottle back to me. I take a half shot sized gulp and quickly remember how long it's been since I have done a shot of anything but cold medicine. I blink back the tears forming in my eyes, I need a chaser.</p><p>"Donnatella Moss, you're actually married?" CJ says with a hint of, dare I say, respect in her voice.</p><p>Well that was not the question I was expecting. "CJ, I told you several times that I was married. I even told you where to find the marriage certificate."</p><p>"Yeah, but I just assumed you got knocked up by some asshole lawyer who didn't want to leave his wife and Josh was helping you out of his weird sense of chivalry and his blinding fear that you will leave him."</p><p>I can only laugh at this. "Well I guess your assumption was kind of true. Josh is a married, and he did go to law school. You missed the part where it was Josh that did the knocking up, though, and I think his fears that I will leave him are pretty well assuaged now."</p><p>If she had been drinking something at the time, CJ would have done a spit take. It occurs to me that up until this point she really didn't explicitly know that Josh and I were together, together. I also realize that by keeping CJ this out of the loop, there is some penance I need to do, just as a girlfriend, not even as someone fessing up to the White House Press Secretary about her very secret and very political marriage. If my relationship had progressed normally with a non-White House employee, as my friends, CJ and the rest of the assistants would have been privy to some pretty specific details along the way. Since I was actively hiding my relationship with Josh, they got nothing, or they got what little I told them to stage things to look how I wanted them to look in order to obscure the truth.</p><p>"Go ahead, ask me what you want, but before you do, let's be honest that deep down you already knew about this," I spit out quickly. This is going to be miserable, but I already feel the alcohol taking the edge off.</p><p>CJ looks between me and the bottle in my hand. "Oh hell, this vote isn't coming in by my next scheduled briefing," CJ mutters and reaches for the whiskey bottle again. I willingly hand it to her and watch her poke her head of her office door.</p><p>"Carol, cancel the 10 pm briefing then bring us some water and come get drunk with us. You'll want to hear this too."</p><p>CJ returns to her office and reclines on her couch, motioning for me to join her. "Ok sister, spill. When did it start, was it any good, is he... you know...?"</p><p>"Whoa, whoa. Back up, alcohol and multiple questions don't mix."</p><p>"Ok start with the good in bed part."</p><p>"CJ are you asking me what it's like to have sex with Josh?"</p><p>She looks at me with pitiful eyes and blushes. I have actually made her blush. "Donna, I haven't had good sex in 4 years. FOUR YEARS."</p><p>I raise my eyebrows. "And you'll be using what I tell you about Josh to…what?"</p><p>"Any, ok, I mean any. The White House has been rough on me. It's been a bit of a dry spell," she says, still not maintaining eye contact. "Hearing that you've somehow overcome the White House curse is my only hope…"</p><p>I cut her off with a sigh, then I hold out my hand and wiggle my fingers at her. "I'm going to need more if we're going to have this conversation."</p><p>"I am just asking if the swagger is justified," she says, finally able to kind of meet my eye as she hands the whiskey bottle back to me.</p><p>"Would I have kept him around if he wasn't good in bed?"</p><p>"Probably not, but you are dumb enough to believe in true love, and you got pregnant, so spill it."</p><p>Well that turned around quickly.</p><p>"He's very good," I say almost dismissively, hoping that's all I have to say on the topic. She looks at me expectantly, as if she wants me to keep talking and motions with her hand for me to go on. I blush, it's weird to think about my own sex life in the White House, the very place it's been so off limits all these years. "I mean, the first time, that's always a little awkward and probably always faster than it should be," I add reluctantly. "But he's a quick and willing learner and well equipped for the job if you know what I mean," I finish with a sly smile, both because I'm thinking about it a little and because I see the look on CJ's face start to change as if she's imagining the last part and starting to regret asking. She motions for me to pass the bottle back and starts to take another slow sip.</p><p>Suddenly, feeling bold and wanting to stop this line of questioning, I go on, "I mean the baby has definitely taken some of the fun out of the bedroom lately, but we had some opportunities while campaigning. In fact, I thought it was a bold move how you came into Josh's room in New Hampshire. If I were you, I probably wouldn't have sat on the bed like you did, or the chair, or desk, or touched anywhere in the bathroom—"</p><p>CJ snorts whiskey out of her nose and starts yelping in pain. Fortunately Carol, pops her head into the office, saving me from having to perform any first aid on CJ as well as elaborating further about my sex life with Josh.</p><p>After handing CJ a bottle of water, Carol shuts the door and surveys the scene, "What's going on?"</p><p>"Where to start? I mean I feel like there's so much to unpack here, a marriage, a baby, confessions about campaign sex in hotel rooms," CJ says, having regained her composure, as Carol sets down a few granola bars and a bag of low fat potato chips to serve as snacks and then drops down into a free chair.</p><p>"CJ is interrogating me about my marriage," I volunteer to Carol. "Have some whiskey, she's asking graphic questions."</p><p>"Shut up, this is stuff you would have told me a long time ago. Although, I could have done without the thought I could have sat in the remnants of your love making. Now, where were we?"</p><p>"I think the question you want to ask next is when," I supply, mostly because it's the only question I feel the least bit eager to answer.</p><p>"Yeah," CJ says pointing her water bottle in my direction. "Let's start with when."</p><p>"Josh and I have been together-" I start nervously.</p><p>"Together in the biblical sense?" Carol asks, wide eyed. "You and JOSH?!"</p><p>"Together in the biblical sense for just shy of 3 years," I answer.</p><p>CJ looks confused, I can see she's working out the dates in her head.</p><p>"We'd been sleeping together for over a year when I got pregnant," I supply. I don't know why it's important to me to make that clear, but for some reason, I really don't like it when people think it might have just been a one-night stand. Yes, I definitely think it's a self esteem thing, and no, I'm not ready to unpack it yet.</p><p>"It happened before Rosslyn?" CJ questions.</p><p>"Yes." I struggle to keep from smiling awkwardly. Part of me is immensely proud that we've gone this long without anyone suspecting that we were together, but even now that it's all coming out at a point where we have more legitimacy as a couple, I still feel very exposed.</p><p>"I always thought it would have been when you were spending so much time nursing him. Like you grew close and just…one day had sex," she says.</p><p>I laugh, "Don't you think that would have been inappropriate. Also, probably not the best way to start a relationship? I mean, no guy wants his first time with a girl to be when he still gets winded going up a flight of stairs. Doesn't represent him very well. I think Josh was very relieved he'd had plenty of time to establish his prowess in the bedroom BEFORE he was shot."</p><p>"I guess I never really thought about how that would happen," CJ admits.</p><p>Then I recount a joking conversation Josh and I had about it when his doctor cleared him for sex. "Like 'Hey, sorry about that gaping chest wound and the nightmares you have. I have devoted the past 3 months of my life to nursing you, I have needs. Looks like your little guy works just fine so I'll be on top.'" This has CJ and Carol hooting in laugher.</p><p>"Ok, then if not the hot nurse fantasy, the how the hell did this all start?"</p><p>"Oh God, a hot nurse? Don't say these things, Josh will find out and get ideas," I say, attempting deflection once again. This is the one thing I am absolutely not going to tell her. CJ can ask me about how big his car should (or in this case shouldn't) be all day long. But how this all started is between me and Josh.</p><p>It's not that I'm ashamed (ok, maybe I am a little ashamed), but in the beginning, we were just having sex because we wanted to have sex. And since we both wanted it, it might as well have been with each other so it was. And yes, it went both ways. For me there is a certain amount of trust needed to have a fulfilling sexual experience and Josh was able to provide that. Josh is and has always been a generous lover. It was a pretty good set up there for a while.</p><p>Here's where you think we hadn't talked about what was going on, that we just kept falling into bed together. But we had discussed it and we understood our arrangement and it worked for us. And then Rosslyn happened. That was the point where something shifted on its axis for me. Suddenly it wasn't just scratching an itch of a sexual nature (Josh), keeping a bed warm until something more permanent came along (me) or a new extension of a friendship (me again, but maybe Josh, too). Josh became a need like breathing, and much like breathing, I didn't think too much about it until I almost lost him. I was in love with Josh and it was a revelation.</p><p>So, I did the only reasonable thing - I threw myself into his recovery. In doing so I quit keeping an overnight bag in my car (handy for when we had been feeling itchy) and started keeping my toothbrush in his bathroom and my clothes on one side of his closet. He got better and then, one day I looked up and realized I lived at his apartment, was pregnant with his baby, we were talking marriage and there was less to move out of my apartment than to move in to his. This is not whiskey on CJ's couch and girl talk kind of conversation. This is a story that makes me sound pathetic.</p><p>Fortunately Carol is still thinking about the last question and cuts in with a question of her own, "No wait, if you got together 3 years ago, how did you get pregnant? I mean…" I can see her doing the math in her head and I think she's falling into the same logic trap I used to fall into as well - that getting pregnant is something that only happens to young or otherwise inexperienced lovers (you know how in sex ed they always warn you that you could get pregnant the very first time you have sex, yeah, turns out it can also be like the 300<sup>th</sup> time if you aren’t using birth control) or married couples who are actually trying to get pregnant. I think it's fairly clear here that we weren't any of those and yes, I know how contraceptives work thank you very much.</p><p>"I know, I know, right, I'm not 16? I blame Josh entirely for this."</p><p>"Well that much is certain." CJ blurts from the corner of the couch where she's got her head propped on her elbow. She appears to have a pretty good buzz going on now.</p><p>"So, if you think back to that time, it was a little crazy, Josh was still recovering, uh-" I stop myself, although I think CJ probably knows about his PTSD diagnosis Carol certainly doesn't and doesn't need to, "um, fully, from the shooting and then after that it was directly on to the Leadership Breakfast and then State of the Union and it was a lot. During that time my prescription ran out and so I got an extension but my gynecologist would only renew it for a month without seeing me for my annual appointment. Which I scheduled and then canceled 3 times because Josh always, always needed something more important. By the time the last pill pack ran out I bought a giant box of condoms and Josh finally understood the importance of letting me have just 1 hour off to go to that appointment, but by then the receptionist had had enough of me and claimed that they were booked solid for two months."</p><p>"That bitch!" Carol and CJ exclaim in unison.</p><p>I shrug. "Yeah, I was pissed, but looking back I probably would have done the same if it was some junior senator jerking with Josh's schedule."</p><p>Carol nods in agreement.</p><p>"You can probably guess what happened from there. We were drunk, he forgot the condom, and the rest is history. And that's how you can get pregnant a year into a secret relationship with your boss." I say with a sad smile. I love our daughter, but even as I try to pin the blame on Josh, I still look back on getting pregnant as not one of my finest moments.</p><p>CJ and Carol ask me several other questions of increasing levels of intimacy - some I choose to answer (What did you do when you realized you might be pregnant? I took a pregnancy test, duh, then I yelled at Josh and cried, a lot.) and some I choose to ignore (What’s it like to actually live with someone and be married? I mean how do you explain that?) - before we all fall quiet.</p><p>In a flash I think back to my first few years in the White House. Sure, I'd been a holdover from the campaign so I knew Josh, CJ and most of the rest of the senior staff, but I was in a new realm with all these new assistants. Assistants like Carol who had master's degrees which required years of schooling and internships that gave them the resumes which entitled them to be in the desks they were in, doing the work they were doing. In contrast, there I was, just trying to cover up my lack of education and experience, convincing myself that I wasn't in my desk because I was also in Josh's bed.</p><p>Now I'm realizing that I had all of this self-doubt over my lack of education, but during that time I wasn't in school I was actually getting an education in life. It is crazy to me to think that neither of them has had the time outside of their education and jobs to find themselves in a committed relationship where they could get pregnant and be sure the man would want to marry them. It certainly makes me feel less threatened by the likes of Amy Gardner.</p><p>"What do we do now?" I ask after a few minutes of quiet reflection.</p><p>CJ shrugs. "It looks like our prediction that the press would have a field day about this overshot the mark a bit. I guess you just go on being married and having a baby and working together. I want to be there when Leo and the President find out, though."</p><p>I nod. I half think Leo already knows. Probably the President, too. I'm sure Ron Butterfield knows. There are definitely a few IRS and background check forms out there somewhere in the ether that reflect us as married. Then I have the funniest thought that it's going to be weird to see Josh actually get to wear his wedding ring to work and it makes me smile to think about how far things have come. As I think back to this time not quite two years ago when everything in my life felt so scary. Josh, cranky and even more ill-tempered than usual, was about to put a hole in our living room window. Our relationship was in flux and suddenly felt tenuous and ill-defined and then just as it righted again, I didn't get my period. I can't even tell you what it was like to go buy that pregnancy test. We've come so far in even just this past year, made so many strange and difficult decisions based on the premise that our decision to see the pregnancy and parenthood through as a family would be detrimental to our working lives and yet, here we are, not quite two years later with a one-year-old and a secret marriage that really wasn't that secret after all. Maybe this all did turn out the way it was supposed to after all.</p><p>We're interrupted by Josh, sheepishly peeking his head in the door. "I didn't want to interrupt, but-" he motions to our sleeping daughter over his shoulder. "Apparently she finds Toby's voice strangely soothing. I can't imagine why."</p><p>"Ok, I'll take her," I say, rising to meet him at the door. He carefully shifts our sleeping toddler to my arms and I take the opportunity to remind him that he has an 8:30 appointment with a congressman that he'll have to retrieve from the lobby because as soon as I'm sober enough to drive I'll be taking the baby home. He nods and tells me he won't be home too late after that because he and Toby are just about wrapped up and he's just learned that CJ canceled the 10 pm briefing so he no longer has to stay around for that, gives me a quick kiss and tells me to drive safe. It's all very mundane, something we've done hundreds of times before, but never with an audience. CJ begins to make a comment, but stops, choosing instead to smile wistfully.</p><p>"Ok," I say as I close the door and sit back down on the couch. "What's next?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Want more on what Donna doesn't want to tell CJ? Want to know about how she and Josh ended up sleeping together? Read about their first time over at the JDPostEpisode Challenge Series. It's episode S1 E16 20 Hours in LA. I'd post a link, but I'm feeling too lazy right now.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Interlude Past the Roosevelt Room</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In which Leo is just as in tune with the gossip as the President is. Because you know those two were totally gossip queens even if they pretended they weren’t.<br/>Takes place at the same time as the prior chapter, but this one is in third person because they’re not our heroes for this story.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Leo, do my eyes deceive me or does Josh Lyman have a small child sleeping on his shoulder in the Roosevelt Room?” President Bartlet’s mirthful voice filled the Chief of Staff’s office. He’d been taking an evening stroll through the West Wing as he waited for an update from Nancy McNally.</p><p>“Huh?” Leo’s eyes didn’t stray from the report in his hand.</p><p>“Josh, small child, Roosevelt Room.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, I saw that earlier,” Leo answered offhandedly, still absorbed in the paper in front of him. He also didn’t stand, which was generally against protocol, but after all, it was his office and the President was off the clock and clearly looking for someone to entertain him.</p><p>“Is this some sort of strategy on his part to soften up the Republican leadership to the cause of working parents that I don’t know about?” the President asked as he dropped himself onto the couch in Leo’s office and crossed his legs.</p><p>“I’m not sure, honestly. But if it works…” Leo shuffled the papers in front of him.</p><p>“Ok, but seriously, what woman would trust Josh with a child for any length of time?”</p><p>“Probably the same woman that saw fit to procreate with him,” Leo answered as he adjusted his glasses and squinted at the new document in front of him.</p><p>“You mean to tell me that the child is Josh’s?”</p><p>For the first time in their short exchange Leo looked up at the President sitting a short distance from him. “Yeah, I thought you knew he had a kid. This isn’t the first time he’s brought her around; Donna used to keep a portable crib in his office for late nights.”</p><p>“I thought that was….Josh is a father?” The mirth in the President’s tone had given way to shock.</p><p>“Yeah, the kid looks just like him, too. It’s a girl, though, poor kid,” Leo said gently as he tossed the offending report onto the pile on his desk.</p><p>“Wait, he’s got a secret kid and Mary Marsh hasn’t found this out and lambasted him for immoral behavior? It’s not like he keeps a low profile.” The President looked as if he was doing a complex equation in his head.</p><p>Leo shrugged. “First, the kid’s not really a secret. Second, probably not much hay they can make out of his wife having a kid.”</p><p>“His wife?”</p><p>“Yeah, you didn’t think he got a girl in trouble and then refused to marry her, did you? Seriously Mr. President, this is Josh we’re talking about.”</p><p>“When did he get married?”</p><p>“I don’t know, it’s been a couple years at least.” Leo massaged the bridge of his nose, despite his best efforts to quash the conversation the President seemed to be unwilling to let the topic go.</p><p>“He got married two years ago and we weren’t even invited. Didn’t even get to throw them a party?”</p><p>“Weddings are for women, Jed.”</p><p>“Says the divorced man. If you’d been invited, you’d have gone.”</p><p>“Of course I would have. But I’m also not upset I wasn’t invited. We are trying to run the country here, I can’t have everyone fawning over flower arrangements and dresses.”</p><p>“You know prior to the 11<sup>th</sup> century, private marriages were usually used to force the bride into marriage without her consent. As a result, the Catholics haven’t allowed private wedding ceremonies since 1215.”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure she consented. They had a wedding, or something. Besides, Josh is Jewish not Catholic.”</p><p>“And that means he gets to force a woman into marriage?”</p><p>“Well if Toby had his way…” Leo mused.</p><p>“I can’t believe he got married and had a kid and I didn’t know about it. There must be retribution for this.” The President clasped his hands together as he said it as if he was already planning.</p><p>“Oh no you don’t. You’re feeling hurt you were kept out of the little gossip loop you love so much, but that doesn’t mean you get to play pranks on my deputy. Not when I need him focused on the next term. Besides, you can ask him about it, but he doesn’t really like to talk about his family life that much.”</p><p>“That’s ok, I’ll bet Donna will know. I’ll just ask her.”</p><p>Leo snickered. “I’ll bet she will.”</p><p>The men eyed each other for a moment.</p><p>“Is that all now or do we need to discuss the state of Sam’s personal life now too?” Leo couldn’t help the sarcasm that crept into his voice.</p><p>“I guess that’s all. I’ll be reading in the Residence when Nancy’s ready.”</p><p>“Ok, thank you Mr. President.”</p><p>The President moved to the door connecting Leo’s office to the Oval Office, but paused, hand on the door knob and turned back.</p><p>“And Leo, tell Josh that he shouldn’t feel like he has to hide his personal life.”</p><p>“I’m sure he doesn’t Mr. President,” Leo said sincerely as he looked up at the President and removed his reading glasses. “But in the very off hand chance it comes up, I’ll pass that along to him.”</p><p> “Good man,” the President said and disappeared through the door.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Post Script</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Epilogue -- One year later</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"And in our last 30 seconds -- there is a proposal on the floor to change House rules to ban relationships between members and their staff? Mr. Lyman, your thoughts on such a proposal?"</p><p>I take a deep breath, must stay on point.</p><p>"The White House doesn't take a position on House rules, Mark. If they'd like to make a rule that required members to wear striped socks on Wednesday's that's up to them," I say smoothly, silently congratulating myself for keeping on point.</p><p>"Right, and what about your personal opinion?" Mark says with that sly television smile that has earned him hundreds of thousands of Capitol Beat viewers.</p><p>I shrug, "I'm a democrat, as long as everyone involved is a consenting party, I don't think I much care who people choose to share their bed with and what they do when they’re there."</p><p>I let out a long breath, I'm the king of putting my foot in my mouth and while I think I may have done that earlier in the interview, I think I did ok there. I'm sure CJ will still have comments about what I could have said, though.</p><p>"Ms. Marsh? Your thoughts?"</p><p>"Well, Mark, I think it's a step in the right direction for rooting out the rot in our American political system. However, I think there should be a marriage exemption. The sanctity of the family unit is something that our government needs to defend which is why I've been a vocal proponent for marriage incentives."</p><p>Of course that bitch can pivot House rules back to her precious marriage incentives. I’m about to open my mouth to rip into marriage incentives, but before I can, our moderator Mark cuts in.</p><p>"Well, that's certainly true. Thank you Ms. Marsh, and thank you to Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman for being our guests today. Join us next week for the post-Thanksgiving show down."</p><p>As soon as I hear "Cut!" I jump out of my seat and begin to pull the microphone out from under my jacket. I am running late, because of course I am. Between having a child and working in the White House I am destined never to be on time ever again. Strangely, having a child has made Donna more prompt. She's often pushing me out the door well before we really need to leave. I can probably blame my lateness today on her having taken a day off work to finish packing. If she had been around to interrupt my last meeting I would have made it on time to the television studio and they wouldn't have pushed my live Capitol Beat square off to the second segment of the show. If we had gone first, I would have been on my way home to pick up Donna and the kiddo to head to the airport for our trip to see my mother for Thanksgiving.</p><p>But that's not what happened and now Donna is picking me up, luggage and child in tow. And she looks pissed.</p><p>I am already in a bad mood from squaring off with Mary Marsh, so I take a deep breath to center myself. I suspect there will be some loud marital discourse today, but I would like to try to hold that off until we can get somewhere more private.</p><p>"I know, I know, everything ran late. I am sorry!" I say preemptively as I jog up to her. She wordlessly hands our daughter to me and starts digging in her purse. She pulls out a baby wipe, presses it to my hand and says, "for your face," before turning on her heel and heading toward the studio exit, leaving me wiping furiously, one handed, at the television make up on my face and trying not to trip on any of the cables.</p><p>We are this-close to the door before Mary sees me and stops me.</p><p>"Josh, Al would really like the President's ear on 529."</p><p>"Oh, ah, that's Toby," I say, thanking God I had delegated that one to his office last week. "Call Ginger and have her set up an appointment."</p><p>Mary looks expectantly at me and motions with her eyes to Donna who has stopped and turned back to look at us.</p><p>"Oh, sorry, Mary, this is my wife and daughter." I don't think she has ever met Donna as my assistant, but yet I still don't introduce Donna by name. If she does make connection I don't want to have to stay and answer questions, or worse yet, do damage control. We are late enough as it is.</p><p>"Josh, I didn't know you were married...with children," Mary says as she reaches out to Donna for a handshake and a polite, but still slightly stunned, "Mrs. Lyman." Donna returns a terse "Ms. Marsh." Apparently first names aren't necessary. It's moments like these when I am reminded of how pretty Donna is. I wish it was equally evident she is wickedly smart, too, because Mary is clearly making some assumptions about her that simply aren't true.</p><p>"Well they call it a private life for a reason," I say quickly. Hoping she'll catch the message, I reach out to touch Donna's elbow in an effort to steer us to the door. Mary looks like she's about to say more, but she's interrupted by my daughter.</p><p>"Down Daddy?" She asks. I am not falling for those shenanigans, though. "No, sweetie, not here," I say as I hold tight. A toddler, especially my toddler, running around in a television studio spells trouble.</p><p>"Josh, our flight?" Donna says quietly, but urgently.</p><p>"Well, we really need to go, Thanksgiving holiday at Grandma's awaits." Mary snaps out of it and looks back to me.</p><p>"Of course, Happy Thanksgiving, Josh."</p><p>"You, too," I answer over my shoulder as we step out of the studio into the cold November sun.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That's it, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Now off to work more on one of my other stories.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>